Midnight Delusions
by S00kiebill
Summary: After Mr. Hale's passing, Margaret has to spend a week at the Thorntons while Mr. Bell arranges for her to move to London. She's uncomfortable at the idea of spending time with Mr. Thornton after everything that happened between them, and they soon find themselves in a compromising situation.
1. Chapter 1

Midnight Delusions

Mr. Bell walked reluctantly down the street that led to the home of the Hales. The scenery was grayer than usual, and the fogginess seemed to mimic his current mood. His best friend, Richard Hale, was dead. The intimidating responsibility of informing Margaret now rested on his shoulders.

How could he break such news? The unfortunate young woman had just lost her mother… The only thing Mr. Bell could do to soften the blow was to take care of her, as he had promised his friend. With that interest in mind, he had delayed delivering the news in order to first arrange Margaret's immediate fate.

The first step was to get her out of that house. He didn't want to subject her to those haunting silent and empty rooms, and much less to the pain of packing up her parents' belongings. That would be too much to handle for the poor creature. Both, Dixon and himself, could tend to this task without her.

There was no question that she would have to move to her aunt's house in London. But taking care of the logistics of the move could take some time. He just needed to secure a room for Margaret for that period; preferably, a place with familiar faces, and where she could distract herself with conversation. This was why he had visited Marlborough Mills earlier in the day.

 _Mr. Thornton was busy reading some correspondence in his office, when he was interrupted by a knock on the door._

 _"Come in," he said, not looking up and predicting the intruder to be one of his employees. "What is it?" he added after he heard the door open and close._

 _"Thornton," Mr. Bell greeted, removing his hat._

 _The unfamiliar voice caught his attention, and Mr. Thornton looked up to find a miserable looking Mr. Bell._

 _"Mr. Bell," he said, a little taken aback by both, his presence and appearance. "What brings you here?"_

 _"The most terrible news, I'm afraid," he said, touching the back of the guest's chair in a silent request for permission to sit._

 _Mr. Thornton extended his hand, granting it._

 _"Thornton, I'm sorry to inform that our dear friend—Mr. Hale—has passed," Mr. Bell explained calmly._

 _Mr. Bell went on about Mr. Hale's last days and impromptu funeral in Oxford, but Mr. Thornton was no longer listening. His eyes were firmly set on the left corner of his desk while his mind was reeling. What was to become of Margaret? Would she stay in Milton? Would she have to leave? Yes, he was fond of Mr. Hale, and the news saddened him, but what saddened him most was thinking about how she was faring._

 _"…and so I promised I'd take care of her. He probably foretold that the end was near."_

 _"How's Miss Hale?" Mr. Thornton asked, bringing his attention back to the conversation._

 _"She doesn't know yet," Mr. Bell admitted, letting a hint of embarrassment taint his voice. "In fact, I came to you first because I have a favor to ask."_

 _Mr. Thornton felt uncomfortable then. He didn't think it fair to hear of this before Margaret did. Right now, she was likely preparing herself for her father's return in blissful ignorance. But before criticizing Mr. Bell's decision, he waited for him to explain the logic behind his actions._

 _"I worry that staying in that empty house will have a terrible impact on her state of mind. I want her to be amongst friends, you see." Mr. Bell explained. "Ultimately she'll move back to London with her aunt, but preparing for the move could take up to a week. Now, I know you were close to Mr. Hale, and it's in his memory that I request the following. Would it be possible for Miss Hale to stay at Marlborough Mills while Dixon and I take care of vacating the house?"_

 _"Indeed," Mr. Thornton answered, not even pausing to think it through._

 _"I can only hope that Mrs. Thornton will be as agreeable."_

 _"Rest assured Miss Hale is welcome to stay here as long as she needs to." Mr. Thornton knew his mother would have a hard time accepting it, but it was his decision to make. Honor would also bind her to give in._

 _"Very well, now that this is settled, I can't delay it any longer. As hard as it may be I must go to Miss Hale" Mr. Bell said, standing up. "I'll come back with her this evening."_

Now here he was, standing outside of Miss Hale's home, bracing himself for what was coming. Mr. Bell gathered all his courage and knocked on the door, Margaret answered seconds later. Her face was bright and welcoming, but this glow faded once she realized that it was Mr. Bell, and that he was alone.

"Oh! Hello, Mr. Bell!" exclaimed Margaret. She could see bad news hiding in his eyes, but she pretended to be oblivious to it at first. "I trust that your trip went well. Where's father?"

"Margaret…" Mr. Bell's voice broke a little.

Margaret felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach.

"Is he…?" Margaret asked in half a whisper, not managing to finish the question.

Mr. Bell read in her face that she understood the situation, and he nodded.

"H-how?" She asked breathily, gently placing her hand over her abdomen.

"Margaret," Mr. Bell took her by the arm. "Let us take this inside," he said guiding her to the parlor.

Once they were all sitting down, he told Dixon and Margaret everything, and he watched helplessly as they cried. An hour later, they were still in the same spot, but an eerie silence had filled the room. The sun was setting and it was getting cold, but nobody moved.

Margaret's gaze seemed vacant, she had stopped crying, but her eyes and her nose were red. Her arms were limp and they rested on her lap; her right hand still holding on to her handkerchief. Mr. Bell thought the time had come to tell her what he'd decided.

"I promised your father that I would look after you, which is why I have already taken care of everything," Mr. Bell said, breaking the silence.

Margaret snapped out of her trance and looked at him in confusion. "What do you mean?" she inquired.

"I have arranged for you to leave this house today," explained Mr. Bell. "I've come to believe—and I'm sure Miss Dixon will agree—that staying here will not do any good."

"But-" Margaret stopped abruptly when Mr. Bell raised his hand, indicating he hadn't finished speaking.

"I'm afraid there's no room for discussion, my dear. Your father has bestowed a huge responsibility on me, and you must respect my decisions as you would his. Do you understand?" he said in a gentle, yet authoritative, tone.

"Yes," she responded weakly "I understand." She swallowed hard, and continued with more confidence. "I just want to stay long enough to make sure that my parents' belongings are safely kept."

"Which is why Miss Dixon and I will be in charge of this very task," he explained, trying to ease her mind. "Right, Miss Dixon?" asked Mr. Bell turning towards her.

"Yes, I agree with this gentleman," said Dixon, who was sitting beside Margaret. "Staying here will be very painful for you, Miss Margaret. Trust me to take care of the masters' things," she said soothingly, putting her hand on hers.

Margaret was touched by the gesture, and couldn't help but smile a little. "Thank you, Dixon." She returned her attention to Mr. Bell. "I'm very thankful for what you are doing for me. But I can't leave Milton with so little notice, without saying goodbye to our friends."

"Oh, don't fret, my dear. I deemed it best for you to stay in Milton while we settle things. I'll inform your aunt you'll be joining her in London next week," said Mr. Bell.

The idea of leaving Milton didn't sit all too well with her. But knowing she had at least a week reassured her.

"It would be best to leave now though. It's getting late." Mr. Bell observed, looking out the window and casually peeking at his pocket watch. "Pack lightly. I can arrange for the rest of your belongings to be brought to Marlborough Mills tomorrow."

Margaret froze. "Marlborough… Mills?" she asked, hoping she had misheard.

"Yes. How clumsy of me! I forgot to mention it sooner—old age. The Thorntons have been kind enough to offer their home temporarily." He explained in a casual tone.

Margaret's heart skipped a beat. She was sure she wouldn't be able to handle it. After everything that had happened. Her last encounter with Mrs. Thornton had been very unpleasant. And after the train station affair, every interaction with Mr. Thornton had been awkward at the very best.

"They agreed to this?" she asked, trying to mask her disbelief.

"It shouldn't surprise you. They esteemed your father, and want to be of service," he explained with a kind smile.

"Miss Margaret, let us not keep them waiting. A small suitcase will do for now," said Dixon, standing up.

Margaret and Dixon excused themselves for a few minutes. They packed the necessary toiletries, a nightgown and her mourning dress. Dixon assured Margaret that she would personally make sure to send her the rest the following morning.

Before coming down the stairs to meet Mr. Bell once more, Margaret glanced at the empty room that had been her parents'. They were never coming back. Surely, being uncomfortable at Marlborough Mills would be more bearable than what she was feeling now. With that in mind, she descended.

* * *

Mr. Thornton had waited until after work to break the news to his mother.

"I understand that this is very unfortunate for Miss Hale, John!" she exclaimed from the couch. The embroidery she had been working on, forgotten on her lap. "I agree she cannot stay in that house. But I don't understand why she has to stay here."

"I owe it to Mr. Hale, mother. He was a good friend," he explained, remaining calm. "With Fanny gone, we have a room to spare. And Miss Hale will be moving to London next week," he added, trying to keep disappointment from seeping into his voice.

The promise Mrs. Thornton had made to Mrs. Hale came back to haunt her.

"I'm not saying we should turn her away," she sighed, knowing the matter was settled. "It's our duty to help her get back on her feet." After a brief pause, she added, "it is you that I'm concerned about."

The kindness in his eyes flickered out. "There is nothing to be concerned about," he said coldly, indicating that the discussion was over.

Mrs. Thornton didn't push it any further. "Anna!" she called for the maid.

The old woman responded immediately to the voice of her mistress.

"Anna, make sure Fanny's bedroom is ready. We are expecting a guest. Also, put an extra plate at the table tonight," she instructed.

Satisfied, Mr. Thornton went on about his business.

* * *

An hour later, Mr. Bell was knocking at the Thorntons' door with Margaret by his side. They were met at the entrance by John and his mother; both were quick at offering their sympathies to Margaret, who accepted them humbly.

"Thank you for your condolences and hospitality," she said, focusing on Mr. Thornton's chest—too embarrassed to look him in the eye.

Mr. Thornton noticed her timidity and found it endearing. That feeling was quickly suppressed when he remembered the train station incident. He was convinced that her shyness wasn't borne from any romantic interest, but from a guilty conscience, and that made his demeanor toughen once more.

Wanting to get rid of some of the awkwardness before coming in, Margaret turned to his mother. "Mrs. Thornton, I know this was a while ago, but I would like to apologize for how our last meeting unfolded," Margaret said looking down.

For a moment she wasn't sure whether the comment had remedied or increased the tension. When the silence became unbearable she dared to take a peek at Mrs. Thornton's face. She wasn't smiling. Maybe she shouldn't have mentioned it.

"I'd already forgotten, Miss Hale," she lied.

Margaret let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and relaxed somewhat.

"What are you waiting for? Come in, girl," said Mrs. Thornton, ushering her in. "Anna will show you to your room and we can have dinner after."

Anna diligently took the small suitcase from Mr. Bell's hand and asked Margaret to follow her upstairs.

Margaret passed right by Mr. Thornton. He realized she looked very tired—as if she had been crying for hours—and that made him feel terrible. He wished he could do more than just politely offer his condolences. He wanted to hold her and kiss her, soothe her in the way a lover would...

No, he couldn't dwell on that now; she had made it clear that that would never happen. He brought his attention back to his guest.

"Mr. Bell, will you join us for dinner?"

"I would love to, Thornton, but I'm afraid I have to catch up on some urgent correspondence," he replied. "I trust you'll take care of Miss Hale, I would like to come back later in the week to pay a visit, if you don't mind?"

Mr. Thornton accepted before exchanging goodbyes.

* * *

"Right this way, Miss," said Anna, leading Margaret to the second floor.

The second floor consisted of a wide and long corridor, with four sets of tall double doors.

"Yours is the second to the right," she said opening the door and showing her in.

There was no doubt that this had been Fanny's room. The pastels of the curtains and duvet screamed her name, and contrasted sharply with the rest of the house. While Margaret admired the decoration, Anna placed the suitcase at the foot of the bed.

"Make yourself comfortable, Miss. Dinner will be served shortly," she said excusing herself.

Margaret didn't feel like eating anything, but the last thing she needed was to break the delicate truce with her hosts by acting rude. She approached the intricately carved vanity and looked at herself in the mirror, the toils of the day were written all over her face.

She approached the water jug and bowl that had been placed by the window, and washed her face. The cold water felt refreshing against her skin. She dried the remaining droplets with the towel provided.

She looked at her reflection again—this was the best she could do. A part of her wanted to look beautiful for Mr. Thornton. She quickly reprimanded herself for that thought. Thinking of such frivolous things at a moment like this! She exited the room to head back down, telling herself that she didn't care at all what that gentleman thought of her.

* * *

They sat at the table, which was too big for the three of them. Mr. Thornton was at the head, and his mother was sitting to his right. Margaret's plate had been set to his left. After she took her place, Anna came in and served them chicken broth.

"Thank you," whispered Margaret. She didn't feel like initiating conversation, and just stared at the steam coming out of her plate.

"Mr. Bell said he couldn't stay for dinner," commented Mrs. Thornton, grabbing her spoon.

Margaret's eyes came up to meet hers. "I see," she didn't know what else to say.

To make up for her silence, she forced herself to eat a spoonful.

"This is delicious," she commented politely. Her face suddenly lit up with the hint of a smile. "No one believes when I say that father's chicken broth is…" she stopped herself, looked back down and her smile faded away, "was… much better than Dixon's," she finished the sentence at an almost inaudible volume.

"I believe you, Miss Hale," said Mr. Thornton, making her meet his eyes for the first time that evening. "Your father was a man of many talents," he added.

Margaret's smile came back. She was relieved to see kindness in Mr. Thornton's gaze. As of late she had only seen disdain and disapproval in his features when it came to her.

"Higgins' daughter has also demonstrated her skill," Mr. Thornton commented trying to lighten up the conversation.

"You mean Mary?" Margaret asked, pleasantly surprised.

"Yes," he continued, seeing that it was lifting Margaret's spirits. "She has been working as a cook in the mill's kitchen."

"I'm happy to hear it," she said sincerely. "I would love to go see her, if I may," she said, "I wouldn't distract her, of course. I can help her with her chores," she added.

Mr. Thornton smiled at her eagerness, but before he could answer, their exchange was cut short.

"That is out of the question, Miss Hale!" interrupted Mrs. Thornton. "People would gossip. Do you want them to think we are taking advantage of your circumstances?"

The comment brought Margaret back to reality and to the pain of her loss, dimming the brief glow that had appeared on her face. Although Mr. Thornton understood her mother's point of view, he resented her interruption.

"Excuse me, I'm not feeling very well. I think it's best for me to retire for the night," Margaret said, standing up. "Thank you for dinner."

She disappeared from the dining room. It didn't escape to them that her soup bowl was still full. Mr. Thornton couldn't help but direct an accusatory glance towards his mother.

"I only spoke the truth, John," she said. "Her emotions are still raw, she will be better tomorrow morning, you'll see."

"I understand, mother. But spending time with Higgins' daughter would be a welcome distraction for Miss Hale," argued Mr. Thornton.

"I will send for Fanny. She can be just as distracting," she remarked returning her attention to her soup.

* * *

Everyone had retired to bed but Mr. Thornton. Miss Hale's presence couldn't distract him from the fact that the mill was in imminent danger of going bankrupt, which was enough to keep him awake. Instead of spending the night fidgeting in bed, he chose to spend time back at his office. Sometime past midnight—when he was sure there was nothing else he could work on—he headed back into the house. He didn't want to wake up anyone, so he walked up the stairs as quietly as possible. This was a difficult task, since the wooden floorboards had a tendency to creak.

On the way to his room he heard soft whimpering, it was coming from Fanny's room. Mr. Thornton approached the door but did nothing; he knew disturbing Margaret at this hour would be indecent. His heart ached for her. He knew what it felt like to lose a parent, but he couldn't imagine the pain of losing both in such a short period of time. He wanted to console her and make sure she was fine.

* * *

Margaret was already in bed, but sleep wouldn't come. Her mind had bombarded her with bittersweet memories of her whole family together. She had been so happy, and yet she saw nothing but darkness ahead. With her parents gone and Fred so far away, she was all alone. What was she supposed to do?

She didn't want to move back to her aunt's home in London, and she didn't like the idea of leaving England altogether in order to start anew in Spain. Why couldn't things have remained the way they were? Just when she was starting to grow fond of Milton…

She tried to stifle her cries, putting a hand over her mouth and sinking beneath the covers. The last thing she wanted was to disturb her hosts further after that abrupt exit at dinner. A strange sound pulled her out of her misery—a creak by the door. Margaret sat up on the bed, her heart racing in fear.

She stood and approached the door slowly. She heard a similar creak that froze her in place. Could it be a thief? Or worse, a revengeful spirit? She had always been easy to scare, and Fred had taken advantage of that by recounting her every ghost story he knew. She continued walking towards the door, and she put her hand on the knob. Gathering up her courage, she opened it.

There was no one there. She stepped out into the corridor to look at both sides, but she was met with darkness. She heard something by the staircase and she felt a shiver run down her spine, and with that, her lapse of bravery was gone. She locked herself back into the room, and crawled under the covers. The scare at least succeeded in distracting her away from the pain of her loss for a bit. After a while she fell asleep.

* * *

Mr. Thornton's heart skipped a beat when the wood creaked under his weight right by the side of Margaret's door. Her whimpers halted abruptly. He headed to his room immediately to avoid being discovered lurking about. His room was conveniently located right across from hers, so he was already inside by the time she opened her door.

He heard a familiar creaking sound coming from the staircase and he sighed in exhaustion. Hopefully tonight the noises wouldn't be so loud as to wake him. Before falling asleep he remembered his mother's words and wished for them to be true; he wanted Margaret to feel better come morning.

* * *

Margaret opened her eyes feeling rested. The numbness of slumber had soothed her pain, but her surroundings reminded her of what had happened, bringing back that familiar ache to her chest. She sat up slowly, the loose neckline of her nightgown slipping below her shoulder. She walked towards the window to open the curtains and let the sunlight in. She smiled at the sight before her. She hadn't noticed that the window was facing the mill. She could see all the busy people coming and going, carrying huge packs of cotton one way or the other. She stood there watching, hypnotized by the movement.

She spotted Mr. Thornton coming out of his office to have a word with one of the overseers. He was so tall compared to everyone else, she mused. The overseer left his side, but Mr. Thornton remained. Suddenly, he turned to look directly towards her window, their eyes met. For that instant, the pain in her heart was replaced by an unfamiliar warmth that quickly became overwhelming. Margaret gasped and took a step back, almost stumbling. Her cheeks burned. Had he noticed her state of undress? Her worries were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Come in," she said, sounding a little alarmed.

"Hello, Miss," greeted Anna, stepping into the room.

"Good morning, Anna," she responded, trying to compose herself.

"Not morning, Miss," responded Anna with a smile. "It's already past midday."

Margaret felt very ashamed. She had decided to behave in the most ladylike manner to avoid causing offense, and here she was, waking up offensively late.

"Don't worry, Miss," said Anna, noting her preoccupation. "I was instructed by the master himself to let you stay here for as long as you needed. I just came to bring you these."

Anna carried two large suitcases with her inside the room.

"A Miss Dixon came earlier to see you. I told her you were indisposed. She told me to hand these to you. She explained they contain your belongings and some of your father's books."

"Thank you," said Margaret, approaching the suitcases.

"If you wish to stay, I can bring lunch to you," offered Anna before exiting.

"Oh, I would really appreciate it," she said, not wanting to talk to anyone at the moment.

She spent the rest of the afternoon on the floor rummaging through her father's books—the smell of old books had always reminded her of him. She continued tracing her fingers through pages melancholically until it got dark, and continued with the help of an oil lamp after.

Margaret stumbled upon her father's copy of Plato. She caressed the cover with fondness. This one would have to go to Mr. Thornton, she thought. She approached the window once more with curiosity. The mill was dark and empty now, but there was light coming from his office. Margaret felt for him, how could she ever have thought badly of him? He was tough, but had also shown her to be hardworking, honest and kind.

When she saw the door of the office open, she immediately got into bed. He was coming back into the house and she didn't want to get caught spying from the window again. She turned off the light and tried to fall asleep.

* * *

A few hours later she was woken up by wood creaking. She could tell that the creepy sound was coming from somewhere downstairs. It was the middle of the night! Everyone had to be sleeping. Maybe it was her imagination. She avoided thinking of Fred's ghost stories, closed her eyes real tight and waited for sleep to come again.

* * *

The next morning she woke late, but with more energy than the previous day. Anna came into the room saying Mr. Bell and Fanny would join them for lunch, and Margaret knew that she needed to make an appearance. She took a hot bath, which left her feeling much better, and by lunchtime she was ready to get out of her confinement.

She made her way downstairs wearing her black mourning dress. Mr. and Mrs. Thornton were already sitting down, along with Mr. Bell and Fanny.

"Right on time, my dear," said Mr. Bell, standing up in order to greet her.

"Please, forgive me," Margaret apologized, knowing she was everything but on time.

"Miss Hale! You mustn't apologize! It's perfectly understandable that you would need a moment for yourself at a time like this," exclaimed Fanny a little too loudly.

"Thank you, Miss Thornton," said Margaret, sitting down beside her.

"It's Mrs. Watson now, don't forget!" she said teasingly.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Watson," corrected Margaret with an uncomfortable smile.

"Well, now that we're all here. Anna!" called Mrs. Thornton.

Anna went around the table serving lunch, and the guests diligently complimented the food. Mr. Thornton was oblivious to the chatter. He was relieved to see Margaret had joined them once more, and that she looked much better. The pink color had returned to her cheeks. He felt a little guilty for finding her attractive even in her mourning dress.

The previous night had been particularly difficult for him—his sleep had been restless—and it had nothing to do with the noisy floorboards. Try as he might, he couldn't shake away the image of Margaret by the window. Her tousled hair framing her face, and the uncovered, delicate curve that led from her neck to her left shoulder. The image had disappeared in the blink of an eye. Had it been real?

If it hadn't, this would be his first delusion while awake. He had already grown accustomed to the ones that plagued him at night; something between dreams and nightmares. His brain played cruel games, portraying a version of Margaret that desired him, that came to him begging for his touch. The torturous images allowed him to touch her briefly, but once he was about to kiss her, she vanished into nothingness.

Last night, the vision by the window had come to pay him a visit. She had walked towards his bed and climbed on top of him with the confidence of an experienced seductress. He remembered she had trailed her scorching palms up his torso, before lowering her face to his. Her lips just inches away from his; her bewitching eyes pulling him towards her, like gravity. His hungry lips sought to meet her halfway, desperate for her kiss. But his fevered skin was met with nothing but the night's cold air. He had punched his empty mattress in frustration—this was always the worst part—waking up from another one of those cruel fantasies.

Margaret tried to keep up with the conversation at the table, but gazed upon Mr. Thornton discreetly. She was still wondering if he had seen her by the window. Would his behavior towards her reveal if he had? Mr. Thornton's eyes caught hers, and the intensity she saw made her look away immediately. She felt as if she had been burnt, the same wave of heat she had felt by the window invaded her once more. Maybe he had seen her… or maybe it was her own imagination.

"How are things back at the house, Mr. Bell?" asked Margaret, trying to put that fire down.

"Very well," he answered. "Although Miss Dixon is definitely the most difficult supervisor I've ever had!"

Margaret chuckled. She imagined Dixon ordering him around, warning him to not touch this or that.

"But you can rest assured that everything is being done with the utmost care," he added. "I've also received news from Mr. Henry Lennox."

Mr. Thornton flinched at the mention of his name.

"He asked me to tell you he's very sorry for your loss and that he'll come personally to escort you back to London next week," he said suggestively.

Mr. Thornton paid close attention to Margaret's reaction to the comment, but her expression gave nothing away.

"Oh! Who's this mysterious gentleman?" asked Fanny with excitement.

"Fanny! Don't meddle in other people's business," reprimanded her mother.

"It's quite alright, Mrs. Thornton," said Margaret awkwardly, "he's just a family friend," she explained. "That's very kind of him, but completely unnecessary," she continued, addressing Mr. Bell.

She briefly checked on Mr. Thornton, but his attention had shifted to his plate.

"Well, I'm sure he has already made up his mind," said Mr. Bell, implying there was nothing else he could do. "He has made it clear that he's very interested in your well-being, my dear."

Fanny smiled widely and clapped her hands together excitedly, making Margaret even more uncomfortable.

"Ignore mother, Mr. Bell. I demand to know all about this gentleman, " she insisted, making Mrs. Thornton shake her head in silent disapproval.

"Well, I understand that he's a renowned lawyer in London," he explained, always a little too eager to prolong unsettling conversations.

"Oh!" she exclaimed appreciatively, "well done, Miss Hale! A very respectable position."

"You may as well congratulate me for the invention of the printing press," joked Margaret. "I don't see why I should be congratulated, Mrs. Watson. I had nothing to do with the gentleman's accomplishments, " she added, attempting to get out of the irritating turn the conversation had taken.

"Don't worry, Miss Hale. Your secret is safe with me," Fanny said with a complicit smile that failed to inspire any trust. "But, it is indeed a very profitable profession."

"Much better than cotton these days, I hear," added Mr. Bell, knowing very well that the comment would earn him murderous glances from Mr. Thornton and his mother. Margaret also seemed taken aback by the observation.

"Mr. Bell, I didn't take you for someone who paid any heed to idle chatter on the streets," said Mr. Thornton, trying to mask his discomfort. "You shouldn't concern yourself with these matters."

"I hope so, for both our sakes," he said, keeping a cheery tone. "Finding a new tenant is never an easy task."

Thornton deduced Mr. Bell had talked with Mr. Latimer about the mill's financial struggles and the extra pressure this meant bothered him. But what bothered him even more was that Bell had chosen to bring the topic up in the context of a comparison to Henry Lennox. He resented his connection with Margaret.

"There will be no need for that," he said, more severely than intended.

The meal resumed in an uncomfortable silence.

* * *

After they finished, Mr. Bell retired and promised to come back with news in a day or two. Mr. Thornton also retired and went back into his office. Fanny and her mother remained, keeping Margaret company for a while longer. They moved to the sitting room and called for tea. Right then Margaret did feel thankful for the distraction. While Fanny did most of the hard work talking away, Margaret nodded and listened, and Mrs. Thornton sewed in silence.

"You must visit our house before you leave Milton, Miss Hale," said Fanny. "I've decorated it beautifully."

"I'm sure," commented Margaret. "Your room here speaks for itself."

"Well, thank you, Miss Hale. But I must confess I'm happy to be out of this house," she said lowering her voice. "It's so gray and serious, and the noises in the middle of the night are terrifying."

"Noises?" she asked curiously, recalling her past two experiences.

"Yes," Fanny said, leaning in. "Sounds of footsteps and wood creaking," she described. "I told mother that the house was probably haunted, but she wouldn't listen."

Margaret's eyes widened, but she didn't outwardly express her concern. All the anxiety caused in the past by Fred's horror stories started to come back. What if someone had been murdered here? She gulped and glanced towards Mrs. Thornton, but she continued sewing with what seemed like a playful smile on her lips.

"This house has been here for years, it wouldn't really be surprising," added Fanny, increasing Margaret's apprehension.

"That's enough, Fanny," said her mother with gentle authority.

Fanny changed the subject, but it was difficult for Margaret to concentrate on anything else. She pretended to listen, but she was actually dreading the sun coming down.

Fanny stayed for dinner as well. They waited for Mr. Thornton in vain, for in the end they were forced to dine without him. By the time they had finished and Fanny had said her goodbyes, he was still at the office. The disappointment Margaret felt by his absence took her by surprise.

* * *

Margaret retired to her room and put on her nightgown. The oil lamp illuminated the room dimly. She let her hair down and brushed it with care. She blushed when she remembered Mr. Thornton had seen her like this. She set the brush down by the book she was planning on giving to him. The best moment to do it would be when exchanging their final goodbyes. It pained her to think that, once the week was over, it was likely they would never cross paths again.

She stood by the window for a while, staring at the light in Mr. Thornton's office. She sighed and chastised herself for rejecting him that one time. It was too late for regrets though. She had lost his good opinion—however unfairly—and nothing could be done now. She hated to admit that those words still haunted her…

 _"I hope you realize that any foolish passion for you on my part is entirely over."_

When she saw the door of his office open, she knew it was time to step away. She turned off her light, went to bed and closed her eyes trying to get that sentence out of her mind.

* * *

For the third night in a row, a noise woke her in the middle of her sleep. Margaret's heart skipped a beat as Fred's stories and Fanny's words came rushing back. She sat up, her eyes had already gotten used to the dark, so she could make out silhouettes. The sounds seemed to be coming from the staircase. She tried to convince herself that it was probably nothing. Ghosts didn't exist. Her parents had told her countless times, saying Fred was only teasing.

Getting rid of her doubts wasn't so difficult. She just needed to venture out, and make sure that—in fact—there was nothing in the staircase. She gathered all her courage and walked towards the door at a steady pace. The polished wood felt cold against her bare feet. She opened the door and closed it behind her as she stepped into the corridor, lest she be tempted to turn back before finishing the task she had set for herself. She heard the sound again; she swallowed and continued making her way towards the top of the staircase.

Her breath caught in her throat when she peeked down, her body momentarily frozen in place. There was someone standing in the corner of the first landing. She blinked a couple of times making sure she wasn't hallucinating. She was sure it was a lady. She was leaning back and forth on the same spot. She was wearing a nightgown—much like her own—and her face was covered with long tresses of white hair. Margaret wanted to scream, but her voice wouldn't come out.

She turned back around, wanting to cower back into her room. She was so scared that her whole body felt numb as she made her way to the rear of the corridor clumsily. She turned to the room on her left, entered and closed the door behind her. She hurried to the bed and jumped under the covers breathing heavily, only to find herself pressed against something that felt nothing like fabric. Wait. Was her room to the right or to the left of the corridor?

Mr. Thornton was woken up violently by Margaret colliding against him. He was startled, and his first thought was that he was being attacked by a trespasser. He reacted to the threat instinctively. He flipped them over, so that he was sitting on top of the intruder. He caught the person's wrists violently and pushed them to the sides to prevent any further assault.

If Margaret hadn't been sure before, now that she saw Mr. Thornton straddling her, she knew she had entered the wrong room. Although the scene was very inappropriate, she was still high on adrenaline and oblivious to that fact.

"Mr. Thornton," she whispered, realizing she had scared him.

Mr. Thornton relaxed his grip on her wrists, recognizing her voice. Had it been a thief it would have made more sense to him, now he was very confused. Was this real?

"Miss Hale?" he asked, recognizing her features with a little help from the moonlight, which poured in from a gap in the curtains. "I thought you were a trespasser. What are you doing here?" he asked, trying to ignore her parted lips.

"Mr. Thornton, there is someone in the house," she responded breathlessly, still in a panic. "I saw a woman in the staircase."

Mr. Thornton saw genuine fear in her eyes. He let go of her wrists, but stayed on top of her.

"A woman?" he asked, failing to hide his amusement.

"Yes," said Margaret nodding vehemently and propping herself up on her elbows. "I'm not lying," she added, a little offended by his carefree reaction. "She had a nightgown and white hair," she explained keeping her voice low.

"Miss Hale…"

"We should call someone," she interrupted nervously.

"Anna sleepwalks," he continued. "She roams the first floor, sometimes comes halfway up the stairs. She gets back safely into her room after a while."

"Oh…" Margaret's adrenaline died down, in its place a feeling of embarrassment at her overreaction took over.

Her embarrassment increased once it actually dawned on her where she was. She had never been in such an intimate position with a man before; the whole room smelled of him, and it made her feel dizzy. She also became very aware of the feel of his weight pinning her down. He gave her one of those disarming looks she had hidden from in the past, but she couldn't look away this time. Margaret felt the fire inside of her return with a vengeance.

"Well, you should've warned me," she whispered, attempting to sound harsh. She was desperately holding on to her bearings. She needed to leave now. Why was her body refusing to obey?

Thornton ignored that remark. His mind only had space for one thought at the moment: Margaret was in his bed. Was this another one of those dreams? It seemed more realistic somehow—usually there wasn't a backstory, she just appeared. This was the vision at the window again: her tousled hair was framing her beautiful face, and the low neckline of her nightgown exposed her chest and the curve of her left shoulder. He became distracted by the quick rise and fall of her breasts; he could even see the outline of her nipples pressing against the thin fabric.

Margaret noted the trail of his heated gaze, and she allowed herself to look at him in response. She realized his torso was bare, and her body reacted involuntarily when she saw the outline of his chest. She squeezed her legs together, trying to fight the strange pulse between her legs, but managed to make it even worse. Her gaze came back to meet his, her pained expression betraying an inner battle.

Thornton hadn't failed to notice Margaret's wandering eyes—there was desire in her slow appreciation. That settled it… this was one of those dreams. Margaret would never look at him like that in real life. If he kissed her she would disappear, and he would wake up miserable, frustrated and unsatisfied. But he couldn't deny that the brief moments before waking were always worth it. Maybe the dream would be prolonged if he avoided her lips…

The hem of her nightgown had ridden up during their brief struggle. Thornton took advantage of this, and in one swift motion, he was between her thighs. One of his hands traced her leg and settled on her hip, while the other traveled through her hair to grasp a handful, making her gasp. His grip was tight against her scalp, betraying his frustration at her impending disappearance.

Margaret didn't have time to register what was happening. His sudden closeness both took her aback and set her blood on fire. She couldn't look away from his eyes, and his touch was so commanding that it made her feel as if he owned her. She knew she had to say something, but another—a much wilder—part of her bid her to remain silent. The hours with this man were counted.

Using her hair as leverage he pulled her to lie completely back down onto the mattress, and forced her to bare her neck. His lips touched her uncovered shoulder, and she shivered at the contact. He traced his way up her clavicle with licks and kisses, and she could feel the graze of his stubble against her skin. Once he got to her neck, he bit it softly; she squirmed under him and a light moan escaped her lips.

Her own reaction startled her, what if someone heard them?

"Mr. Thornton, this can't…" Margaret gasped, trailing off with a sigh when he proceeded to nibble her earlobe.

Her hands involuntarily moved to his shoulders, neither pulling nor pushing him away. The feel of his naked skin beneath her palms detonated another unexpected sense of yearning through her. She didn't understand what she was longing for, but it was becoming overwhelming. The spot between her legs became more sensitive to the pressure he was exerting, sending tiny waves of pleasure through her and leaving her craving for more. Her hands itched to trace the rest of his body; however, she fought the impulse.

Thornton pulled his head back to look at her. They both saw the reflection of their hunger in each other's eyes. Thornton let his hand make its way between the mattress and her lower back in order to encircle her waist possessively. With a clenched jaw, he brought their lower halves even closer with one aggressive pull. She suppressed another moan, digging her nails on his shoulders instead—she was sure she would lose her mind. His passion flared at her reaction. He nuzzled the valley of her breasts, and lightly bit one of her nipples through her nightgown, making her whimper.

When she opened her eyes she found his face inches away from hers. One of his hands gently caressed her cheek; he stared at her lips and let his thumb trace their outline. Her lips parted expectantly in response. She shivered, knowing that this could be her undoing.

"I shouldn't be here," she said guiltily between pants, refusing to let go of her last remainder of decency.

"You're not," he remarked hoarsely before gently biting and releasing her lower lip—a sample.

She feared she would lose her sanity. What did he mean by that? She needed to get out of this stupor. A bucket of cold water would be very welcome.

"If someone hears of this…" she didn't dare finish the sentence, knowing the tremble in her voice was giving away her lust.

In his dreams Margaret had never voiced any concerns, which struck Thornton as strange. That thought was fleeting though, as he was too drunk on her to think logically. He was probably about to wake up anyway, the dream had already outlasted the others. He couldn't resist kissing her anymore. His lips crashed down on hers, knowing that this would send him straight back to reality.

Margaret didn't vanish—at least not in the way he was expecting. The combination of his kiss and the feel of his body against hers, threw her last bit of common sense out of the window. His lips moved at a slow and sensuous pace, disconnecting her mind; her body operated on nothing but pure sensation. The concept of propriety, the pain of her loss and the uncertainty of her future were suddenly so far away.

She opened her mouth, welcoming his tongue, and met its languid strokes with her own. Her arousal heightened sharply. Having discovered that her pleasure increased with movement, she instinctively encircled her arms around him and undulated against him.

That delectable motion took him by surprise. He groaned, breaking the kiss. His hands flew to her hips to keep her from repeating it. That had felt too good; it trumped any of the dreams he had had in the past. He wanted to continue, to remove their clothing so he could feel her naked form writhing underneath him; to bury himself deep inside of her and take her again and again.

But his dreams usually never got this far… Wasn't he supposed to have awakened by now? He rested his forehead against hers, and felt the hot air of their hastened breaths intermingling. She looked ravishing; her eyes heavy-lidded, filled with desire for him, and her lips red and swollen from his kisses. Thornton noted that the only reason he could take in this much detail was because dawn was breaking. That realization sobered him up in a heartbeat—this was real.

Margaret had come to his room because she was scared and he had taken advantage of her like a wild beast. His inner reprimand was interrupted by the recapture of his lips by hers. Margaret was still blissfully lost in the passionate haze.

"Margaret, my love, stop," he pleaded painfully, contradicting his own words by reciprocating her advances with more kisses.

Mustering all his self-control, he grasped her chin and forced himself to pull away from her. He held her in place and avoided staring at her lips, which were still open in invitation.

"Miss Hale," he said in a more authoritative tone. Thornton's sudden restraint slowly started rewiring Margaret's brain. She was suddenly overcome by feelings of shame and worry.

"What have I done?" she asked in a whisper. "What did you do to me?" she continued, unwilling to believe she had been an active participant of whatever that spectacle had been. She pushed him away to stand up by the bed. "I had never… I would never… This is not who I am," she mumbled to herself, starting to pace nervously. She covered her face with her hands, wishing she could disappear.

He incorporated and put his hands on her shoulders tentatively, not sure if she would welcome his touch. She didn't protest at the contact, but kept her face down.

"Margaret," he whispered.

She flinched at the mention of her name. Thornton thought that maybe his informal address made her feel worse, so he quickly corrected himself.

"Miss Hale, stop this," he ordered in a low voice.

She obeyed, just as her body had done minutes earlier before his silent commands. She uncovered her face, and forced herself to look him in the eye. It pained him to see that she was on the verge of tears.

"You're not responsible for this, Miss Hale," he assured her. "I took advantage of your vulnerable state and my behavior was inexcusable," he acknowledged; his guilt growing before her searching doe eyes.

"I can only ask for your forgiveness, as you have already made clear that any other kind of arrangement between us wouldn't be welcome," he explained.

"Please, don't continue," she looked the other way, avoiding his gaze.

"Miss Hale, I would understand if you chose not to forgive me. But, do not blame yourself," he added, ignoring her request.

"I can't allow you to excuse my appalling behavior, Mr. Thornton. I… I let you… because I wanted to," she admitted mortified.

The confession made his desire for her come back. He held her hands in his, and placed a kiss on them. She pulled them away from his grasp with a pained expression. She straightened her back and she held her head high.

"I'm not a child, Mr. Thornton, and I'm well aware that I must face the consequences for my actions," she said with an arched brow. "I also know I lost your good opinion long before this night," her voice broke, but she tried hard to keep her emotions in check. "However, I must tell you—whether you're inclined to believe me or not—that I had never acted like this in my life," she declared, quickly wiping the runaway tear that betrayed her weakness.

He knew then that his attitude towards her after the train station incident had affected her deeply.

"And now I fear that all those absurd rumors about me have become true," she added with irony.

She was pulled out from her self-pitying reverie when she felt his hands tenderly frame her face. She gazed into his eyes, and she noticed that this look was different from the others; there was love and adoration.

"Was tonight not enough to show you that my feelings and passions have remained unchanged?" he asked. "My hateful words were spoken in a fit of jealousy. I believe you, and I'm not concerned on the account of those two gentlemen. Not if you care for me; not when your body responds so fervently to my touch," he said encircling her waist and pressing her small frame against him.

Relaxed by his words, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to enjoy the feeling of his strong arms around her.

"You must know by now that you have no business in London, or anywhere else but here. You belong with me," he said, kissing her lips possessively "in this room," he added, letting himself fall back onto the mattress with her on top, "in this bed," he finished, kissing her again.

She reciprocated, but pushed away after a few seconds.

"Mr. Thornton, this is serious," she said, trying to regain her composure.

"Very serious, Miss Hale," he buried his face in her throat and found it amusing that she was still addressing him formally.

"Just so you know, I've never cared for Henry Lennox," she said, feeling him smile against her neck. "As for the other gentleman…"

Thornton leaned back to look at her, his smile gone.

"His name is Frederick," she explained, "and he's my brother."

"Your brother?" he asked in both, relief and disbelief.

"Yes, it's a complicated and long story that-"

He interrupted by kissing her again.

"I must go," she whispered between kisses.

The sun was almost completely out now. It was only a matter of minutes before the Thornton house woke.

"But I'm not done with you," he said refusing to let her go.

Margaret attempted to stand, but couldn't fight the strength of his hold.

"Oh, you can be sure I'll be keeping my distance from you," she warned, knowing now how easy it was to be willing to lose one's virtue.

"We can get married this very afternoon," he suggested with a playful smile.

"Mr. Thornton! That would be most inappropriate," she scolded. "I suppose the announcement could be made once Mr. Bell comes back to visit," she meditated out loud.

A creak coming from the first floor startled them, and she jumped away from him like a cat from water.

"That is probably Anna, she wakes up first to prepare breakfast," he observed.

"I really must go now," she said heading towards the door. "I'll see you for breakfast," she said glancing back one last time.

Thornton was sure there was no man happier than him at that moment. Now he just needed to pretend that he was as miserable as always in front of his mother. That couldn't be an easy task. He hoped Mr. Bell would pay them a visit as soon as possible…


	2. Chapter 2

The corridor was empty when Margaret crossed it to get back into her room. She closed the door behind her and exhaled in relief at having achieved it without getting caught. She was still feeling uneasy, and genuinely surprised at the part of her that reveled in the thrill of it all.

She didn't understand what had happened. She wasn't sure if the trance they had both been in was normal, and it shocked her to admit she wanted to be with him like that again. It was clearly a dangerously addictive practice. Maybe she was never supposed to give that much free rein to her body. What if she ended up like one of those mindless opium den addicts willing to do anything in exchange for their next fix?

She knew that the act hadn't been completed—her mother had awkwardly explained the process one time using terms like 'defile' and 'dishonor.' If she remembered correctly, this was something that a lady was meant to endure. She was ashamed for not having been repelled by it. Did that mean she was one of _those_ women? After all, she was sure that—if he hadn't made her come to her senses—she would've eagerly welcomed her 'defilement.'

She felt unsatisfied. There had been a promise for something more in all of his attentions, a build-up that had been interrupted. As she tried to make sense of things, she absentmindedly retraced the path that his mouth had seared with her fingers. It was an easy trail to remember, her skin still tingled everywhere he had touched her. When she noticed what she was doing, she forced herself to snap out of it. She was neither an addict, nor one of _those_ women!

* * *

When she came down for breakfast, Mr. Thornton and his mother were already in their places.

"Good morning, Miss Hale," greeted Thornton, nonchalantly from behind a newspaper.

"Good morning," she responded, avoiding eye contact with both of them and taking her seat.

Margaret was afraid Mrs. Thornton would read last night's events in her eyes. Was there a visible symptom to wantonness? Had her greeting been appropriate? Would looking her in the eye be suspicious? Would avoiding her gaze also be suspicious?

"Did you sleep well?" Mrs. Thornton inquired, interrupting her thoughts.

Margaret's eyes snapped up to meet her narrowed ones. She knew, didn't she? She swallowed nervously.

"Yes, thank you," she said in almost a whisper.

"You look tired," she remarked. "Anna!"

Margaret's eyes widened. She must know! Her mind screamed in a panic.

Anna entered the room.

"Coffee for Miss Hale," she instructed, casually taking a sip of her own cup.

Mr. Thornton noticed Margaret relax after a few minutes. He couldn't believe how terrible she was at acting normal. If she had acted like this in front of the inspector during the train station affair, it couldn't have possibly been resolved without his interference.

As Anna poured her coffee, Margaret noticed how frail she was. She felt ridiculous remembering she had run away from her in terror. When she completed this task, she brought a large fruit bowl, and placed it in the middle of the table.

"I talked to Higgins and his daughter yesterday," said Thornton, folding the paper and putting it down. "If you're still so inclined, you could pay them a visit today," he suggested, trying to calm her nerves.

Margaret smiled and turned to look at him.

"I am," she said.

"During the break, of course, I wouldn't want them getting distracted. There's a lot to be done," he added before taking an apple from the bowl.

"Surely," she agreed with a smile.

Maybe this wouldn't be so hard. He maintained eye contact as he took a bite from the apple. She knew that had been deliberate; he wanted to remind her of the places those teeth had sunk into just a few hours ago. Her body heated up in response, making her cheeks burn.

"Miss Hale!" exclaimed Mrs. Thornton.

Margaret turned her head back at her immediately; all her worries coming back. Had she read her mind? Had she stared too long? Had that exchange been too brazen?

"Is that a bruise on your neck?" she asked with concern.

Mr. Thornton almost choked and Margaret's hand flew to cover the side of her tell-tale neck. She hadn't noticed it before coming down.

"No, it's nothing," she said, attempting to sound casual. "A rash… probably," she added trying desperately to make it seem unimportant.

"It may be the soap, mother. I heard Fanny voice a similar complaint once," Thornton said—unlike Margaret—succeeding at sounding casual.

"Of course," said Mrs. Thornton. "Miss Hale we're not southerners. You can speak freely if something is making you uncomfortable, our feelings don't get so easily bruised," she said sardonically. "I'll make sure Anna provides you with a milder soap."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Thornton. I'll be sure to remember that in the future. Thank you," she said a little too quickly.

Mrs. Thornton found her demeanor strange, but attributed it to her circumstances and brushed it off.

"If you'll be heading out this afternoon, I recommend you rearrange your hair accordingly," she suggested. "It is quite unbecoming."

Margaret offered her an uncomfortable smile.

Thornton thoroughly disagreed, but wasn't foolish enough to express it. He felt an animalistic pride in having branded Margaret's body somehow, just as she had his. While putting on his shirt he had been pleased to find the tiny scratches her nails had left on his shoulders. He enjoyed knowing that there was evidence of their encounter.

* * *

After breakfast, Thornton headed out to work and Margaret returned to her room. She sat before the mirror and inspected her neck. There was a tiny bruise on the spot where he had bitten her. That had been a close call. She rearranged her hair in a half updo and used her long tresses to cover that side of her neck.

Half an hour before the whistle announced the break, Margaret exited the house. Once she found herself in the middle of the square she realized she had failed to ask where the mill's kitchen had been set up. She looked around for someone to ask, but she didn't want to interrupt anyone's work—they all seemed so busy.

"I believe I said during the break, Miss Hale," said a familiar voice, approaching from behind.

She turned around to face its owner. Thornton's arrogant smile made her heart skip a beat.

"Mr. Thornton," she greeted sheepishly. She noted that he seemed on his way out. "I just needed some fresh air," she explained, avoiding his eyes and lowering her face.

"Of course. I see that you listened to my mother," he remarked, noticing her hair. "It suits you very well."

She kept her face down but allowed her eyes to meet his. She couldn't help but smile slightly at the compliment. He stepped a little closer.

"But what it covers suits you even better," he added in a lower voice.

His words wiped that smile off her face, and made her shudder. She wasn't comfortable with the power he had over her; she resented him for making her body react in a public place. She looked all around nervously, making sure that no one had heard his shameless remark. When she was sure everyone was oblivious to their exchange, she turned towards him. This time her chin was up in defiance.

"Mr. Thornton, people may hear," she warned.

Why was he still smiling?

"Miss Hale, I'm afraid at present your nerves pose the higher risk," he countered.

She felt embarrassed knowing he was referring to her behavior at the table. She knew she was a terrible liar.

"Let us change the subject," he said. "I received a note from Mr. Bell."

"Is he coming to visit?" she asked, slightly relieved.

"No. It's an invitation," he explained. "A small dinner will be held at Mr. Latimer's house tomorrow night. He insists that attending will be good for your spirits."

She smiled thinking about all that Mr. Bell had done to make her feel better.

"It could be a good opportunity to let him know I've decided to stay," she mused.

"Indeed. I'm sure he'll be happy to hear he has been sending all your furniture to the wrong address," he jested.

Margaret let out a laugh, she could definitely get used to this man's company. Thornton smiled in return. This exchange had not been so subtle; the people around them could tell they were flirting. Margaret became serious when she noticed the stares. How thoughtless of her.

"Would you be so kind as to show me the way to the kitchen?" she asked in a more formal tone.

Thornton hid his disappointment at her sudden change in attitude. Although he wanted Margaret to let go of all her apprehensions, he understood her reasoning. He was convinced that once there was an official engagement, she would feel more at ease.

"With pleasure," he said, providing her with directions.

"Thank you, Mr. Thornton. I will see you for dinner," she said, wanting to be on her way before the whistle blew to avoid getting lost in the crowd.

"I doubt it, Miss Hale, especially if I'm to accompany you tomorrow," he said. "The work is piling up and it doesn't look like I'll be making it back before midnight."

She noticed for the first time that he seemed exhausted. She remembered Mr. Bell's remarks at the table… Was the mill really in such grave danger? She didn't have a chance to ask.

"I must go now, Miss Hale, I've dallied too long. I have an urgent meeting in town," he said before bowing his head slightly and walking towards the exit.

* * *

Margaret finally made her way to the kitchen a few minutes after the whistle had blown. When she arrived, Nicholas and Mary were already there. They offered their condolences, and suggested to have lunch together. She gladly accepted. They sat down at one of the tables, each with a bowl of hot soup. Margaret noticed that those around them were staring, but in this context she didn't mind.

"I was so sorry to hear about Mr. Hale. He was a remarkable fellow," said Higgins.

"Thank you, Nicholas," she responded with a kind smile.

"If you don't mind me asking—where will you go?" he inquired with concern.

"Well, I don't know yet," she said before trying the soup. "This is very good, Mary," she noted, meaning to change the topic.

"Thank you, Miss," she responded timidly.

"How is work at Marlborough Mills?" asked Margaret.

"I won't lie to you, Miss Hale; I wish the wages were higher. But—if anything—Thornton is a fair master. He agreed to set up this kitchen despite the mill's troubles, which I found surprising," he admitted.

"Are the mill's troubles so great?" she asked, lowering her voice so the others wouldn't hear.

"Everyone suspects they are," he said. "I've worked over my time for the past two weeks—there's much to do. By the time I leave it's already late, and Thornton is still in his office."

Margaret knew this to be true. She was worried about him and about the future of the mill, but what could she do to help? She had inherited a very modest amount of money—definitely not enough to make a significant difference.

She proceeded to ask about Boucher's children, and this subject brought a smile to their faces. Both Mary and Nicholas seemed to have gotten very attached to the kids, and this made her happy. When the whistle blew, indicating that the break was over, they said their goodbyes. She reluctantly walked back towards the house, the last thing she wanted was an afternoon stuck with Mrs. Thornton.

* * *

That afternoon, Mr. Thornton's office trembled as he reentered and slammed the door shut behind him. He was furious. The strike had disrupted orders, which in turn delayed his buyers' payments and left him unable to pay back his own debt to the bank. His recent meeting with the bankers had been fruitless. At present the mill's future seemed dire, but he had until the end of the month to turn things back around.

He sat down at his desk and he stared at the papers in front of him. He placed a hand on the bridge of his nose, knowing the evening would be long. He started reading reports and penning letters, but the memories of the previous night were adamant in robbing him of all focus. The distraction increased his ire. His attention should be solely on the mill, especially now.

Remembering Margaret's abandon made this difficult. His heart raced at the memory of them together in bed. After all that had happened between them, the fact that she wanted him was shocking. He wouldn't have believed it had her body not been so responsive; he could only imagine how it would be once he actually took her.

He sighed in annoyance at the enticing images his mind was fabricating. Now that he knew the taste of her skin, these visions exasperated him more than ever. He was convinced that the interruption of their encounter had only added to his general state of frustration.

He chastised himself when he realized it was getting dark, and forced himself to turn back to the day's work. He finished sometime past midnight. Thornton couldn't help but feel angry at Margaret; he was sure those daydreams would continue haunting him into the night, preventing him from getting any rest.

He came out of his office into the empty square and instinctively looked up towards her window—she was there.

* * *

Margaret had spent a very silent afternoon with Mrs. Thornton, and she was thankful when the time came to retire for bed. In her presence, she felt guiltier remembering what had happened with Mr. Thornton.

She put on her nightgown and got into bed. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but her body refused to relax. She felt incomplete. She remembered the feel of Thornton's body against hers and she yearned for it. She was tempted to reach between her legs to evoke the previous night's feeling but she stopped herself, clenching her hands into fists. She opened her eyes in worry—the symptoms of an addict.

Breathing erratically and scared at herself, she stood up and set the oil lamp to illuminate the room faintly. She walked towards the window and stared at the light in Thornton's office. She was definitely safer from behaving immorally there than laying on the bed.

She didn't know for how long she stood there. She leaned against the frame and folded her arms. Her gaze lost as the images of what had taken place played in her head, over and over again. She came back to her senses when she saw the office go dark, and the door open. She knew that it was time to leave her post, but she didn't. She saw him walk into the square and stare up directly at her. She welcomed the heat that came from their eyes meeting. She knew he wouldn't fail to notice her exposed skin. He stared at her as if she was prey, and it was exhilarating.

* * *

Thornton couldn't believe what he was seeing, his eyes devoured her hungrily. Margaret clearly knew what she was doing; she stood straight and proud, showing off her uncovered neck and left shoulder. The flimsy fabric of her nightgown revealed every curve—his mouth watered. The temptress! Hadn't she scolded him that very morning? Now there she was, torturing him, flaunting her body while she knew he couldn't yet claim it. His anger at her grew. With a firm stride, he walked back into the house and made his way up the stairs.

Margaret saw him disappear from sight. She had perceived his anger. Nervous, she thought that maybe she had crossed a line. She heard the creak of the floorboards as he made his way up. To her surprise, he entered her room. He was clearly infuriated; his demeanor reminded her of their first meeting—when she had seen him beat one of his workers.

He closed the door behind him and charged at her. She gasped as he pulled up her nightgown to lift her up by her thighs and press her violently against the wall with his body, there was a loud thud. Her hands instinctively held on to his neck, fearing she would fall down.

"Mr. Thornton, your mother…" she warned, the loud sound having startled her.

"Oh, now you care about others hearing! You didn't seem so reserved a moment ago," he scolded, but kept a low voice.

There was raw passion in his eyes—which bored into hers—and his breaths blew hot against her face.

"What game are you playing at, Miss Hale?" he whispered through clenched teeth; his fingers digging into her thighs.

She couldn't formulate an answer. How could she justify her actions when her own contradictory behavior puzzled her?

"I don't know what you're referring to," she responded breathlessly, attempting to not give away how much she was enjoying the feel of his body tightly pressed against hers.

"Oh, you know," he contradicted huskily, noticing her eyes were heavy-lidded. "What did you expect me to do after that display?" he asked heatedly before grinding against her—letting her feel the effect she had on him.

Her eyes closed and her head fell back; she bit her lower lip in order to suppress a moan. She had been longing for that feeling the whole day.

"Nothing," she lied as she forced her head back down, silently praying he would repeat the motion.

His face was so close. When his lips started moving forward, she licked her own in anticipation, but he stopped before making contact.

"In that case I must bid you good night," he said, his hands boldly making their way to her waist as he set her back down on the floor.

Her hands tightened around his neck—a silent request for him to stay. His eyes traveled back to her parted lips.

"Tell me what you want from me," he demanded.

Her hands left his neck in order to cradle his face. With the tips of her fingers, she traced the outline of his furrowed eyebrows, his cheekbones, and the edges of his jaw. She was convinced he was the most attractive man she had ever seen. His anger receded before her touch and the wonder he saw in her eyes.

How could she tell him what she wanted? Her wonder was replaced with consternation. She could allow her upbringing to delude her into thinking she didn't know… but deep down she knew: she wanted to be kissed, to be touched, to experience the previous day's pleasure without interruption—an end to her frustration. She felt powerless and humiliated by having such thoughts... She was after all a clergyman's daughter!

"I hate you," she said weakly, sounding almost like a wounded animal.

"Do you now?" he asked, slightly amused.

Sensing the conflict within her, he let his lips capture hers, and she responded ardently. The desperate rhythm of their kiss betrayed they had both been craving it. His hands returned to her thighs to lift her back up. This time, she allowed her legs to wrap around his waist.

Thornton kissed her neck while he carried her towards the bed. He fell on top of her, and his hands found their way under her nightgown. His right hand reached between her legs and she let out a cry, arching her back in response; he was pleased to feel the evidence of her arousal. His other hand immediately flew to her mouth, in order to muffle any sound.

"Allow me to rectify that which has made you hate me," he whispered near her ear, as he started moving his right hand in circles. Her eyes rolled back and her breaths became heavy. Her body began writhing against his hand as if it had a mind of its own. He was mesmerized by the movement of her hips and the wild look in her eyes; he wanted nothing to block this sight.

He stopped, making her whimper in protest. He moved to undress her and she complied in a daze, only wanting for him to resume his attentions. She had never felt so exposed in her life. She was completely naked before him, and the way his eyes took in every part of her added to her excitement. His hands and lips explored her. He kissed, sucked, and bit his way up her body; paying particular attention to her breasts. She arched unto his touch, feeling completely safe with him. Although her mind was barely there, she could tell that there was nothing but worship in his gaze.

She sucked in a breath when his hand returned to that spot between her legs. He repeated the same torturous motions that were making her lose it; she could feel the pleasure building up once more. She wasn't sure of what was happening, she only knew that she was getting close to something, and that she madly needed to get there. Her head fell backwards, and he stopped. Her body became painfully aware of the absence, and she almost screamed in exasperation.

"Look at me," he commanded.

She obeyed almost angrily, but he enjoyed even that; it thrilled him to know he had this power over her. He continued moving against her, and he could tell the heightened sensations were making it hard for her to keep her eyes on him. But he selfishly wanted for her to remember that it was him making her feel this way. He was mesmerized by the wild look on her face.

The need in Thornton's eyes was almost palpable, and it increased Margaret's pleasure. She held on to him. One of her hands tangled through his hair and pulled him towards her, bringing their foreheads together. Her other hand crawled under his shirt, reaching for the feel of naked skin.

They were both breathing heavily, and she was having a hard time keeping silent. Reading her body, he increased his speed until the pleasure became overbearing. She finally lost all control of her body. The spasms of release made her tighten her hold on him, and Thornton was quick to drown her moan with a kiss.

For a few seconds they both remained motionless; their breaths the only evidence they were still alive.

"I'm one of _those_ women," she whispered to herself in fear once she came back to her senses.

"What do you mean?" he asked, trying hard to bring his own arousal under control. The sight of her alone had almost brought him over the edge.

"Mother warned me about them," she explained, "immoral women who revel in the company of men."

Thornton looked at her in disbelief.

"You mean you would allow Henry Lennox to touch you like this?" he asked, uttering his name with distaste.

"What are you saying? Of course not!" she snapped back, offended.

"Then I must heartily disagree with you," he said, holding her close to him, and placing a kiss on her hair.

She realized what he meant, and she relaxed, resting her head on his chest. "But, is this normal? How can I ever think of anything else? How will I go about my day?" she asked, genuinely concerned.

"If you were to come up with a scheme, I would be happy to hear it. I'm afraid that we face a similar ailment," he said.

Margaret realized that while he had ensured her satisfaction, he had not procured his own. She sat up and looked at him feeling guilty—knowing now the pains of that kind of frustration. He was still laying down, his eyes were closed as he took deep breaths and his fingers drew circles on her lower back.

"Mr. Thornton, you didn't…" she trailed off, not knowing how to phrase the question.

"Will you insist on addressing me formally?" he asked.

"Well, yes… I wouldn't want to risk making a mistake in front of others," she reasoned. "But, you didn't answer my question…"

"You didn't ask one, my love," he pointed out, sitting up. "I mean, Miss Hale. Please forgive my forwardness, I should not be taking such liberties" he said sarcastically, as he leaned in and bit her shoulder.

He got off the bed, but was stopped by the grip of her hand on his sleeve. He turned around to find her kneeling by the edge of the bed, looking down nervously. He couldn't help but think that she would make the perfect model for a sculpture of Venus.

"I… I want you to feel…" she said with trepidation "what I felt."

He was touched by her words. He tenderly placed his hands on the sides of her face.

"You can be sure that I find pleasure in admiring yours," he said, making her blush. "What I've given, I've given freely," he added, looking deep into her eyes.

She nodded and her hands settled on his wrists.

"Don't misunderstand… I do intend to take," his voice dropped an octave, making her heartbeat quicken. "But first you must get used to this side of you. I don't want for you to have any regrets, or feelings of guilt or shame," he explained.

His words made her want to pull him back to bed with her. She didn't want him to leave her side. She sighed loudly, feeling completely in love with him for the first time.

"What?" he asked.

"I'm just thinking about how foolish I was," she confessed, looking back down. "If I had only said yes to you all those months ago..."

He kissed her passionately then. He couldn't believe how things had changed between them; how could the same barbed tongue that had broken his heart now bring such pleasure? He was tempted to push her back unto the mattress and take her up on her previous offer, but he broke the kiss.

"I must go now. Tomorrow will be a long day, we should both get some rest," he said before disentangling himself from her hold and placing a kiss on each of her palms. "I'll have a talk with Mr. Bell," he assured her. "And we'll have the shortest engagement possible."

"Yes," she agreed, and then felt embarrassed at sounding so eager.

He walked away from her naked form reluctantly; and the expression in her face betrayed a similar feeling. He came back to kiss her briefly one last time before bidding her goodnight and leaving the room.

* * *

The next morning, Margaret felt a little more at ease at the breakfast table. Before coming down, she had inspected her body, and been happy to find no new bruises—at least in visible places. The one in her neck was still there, so she continued to wear her hair in a half updo.

"Good morning, Mr. Thornton, Mrs. Thornton," she greeted confidently before sitting down.

"Good morning, Miss Hale," he responded, suppressing a smile.

"Good morning," Mrs. Thornton said before eyeing her up and down. "I'm happy to see you're feeling better."

"Your time here has certainly favored your health," remarked Thornton, knowing she would catch his hidden meaning.

"Indeed, it has. I'm obliged to you," she said, looking directly at him. She would not cower before his suggestive remarks today.

"It is our pleasure," he said, pleased at her self-assurance. "Mother, will you be joining us tonight?" he asked, shifting his attention towards her.

"Dinner at the Latimers'? I can't stand the man," she remarked disdainfully. "I'm sure you'll find yourselves with more than enough company. Especially you, John, considering his daughter will be there."

Margaret knew she was referring to Ann Latimer. The last time she had seen her, she had been holding on to Thornton's arm like a love-struck teenager. She raised an eyebrow unconsciously, revealing her contempt. Thornton noticed and smiled at her reaction. Mrs. Thornton found the whole exchange suspicious.

"Let us hope Mr. Bell will have good news for you, Miss Hale," she added. "As I'm sure you're looking forward to getting back to your family in London."

"Yes," said Margaret, smiling awkwardly.

* * *

After they finished breakfast, Thornton excused himself and stood up.

"John, a word," said his mother following him towards the main entrance, leaving Margaret sitting alone in the dining room.

"What is it, mother?" he asked, adjusting his coat, readying himself for another day of work.

"Be careful," she warned.

His brow furrowed and he stared at her in confusion. Was it possible that she actually knew what was happening?

"I'm not sure I catch your meaning."

"Oh, please, John! I saw the way you looked at her—there was hope in your eyes. I couldn't bear to see you get hurt again on her account. Don't get your hopes up. It will be even harder when she leaves," she advised.

Thornton smiled. A part of him was relieved that she knew nothing, and another part was touched by her concern.

"Don't trouble yourself with this matter," he advised gently, "I know exactly how things stand with her," he stated before exiting the house.

Mrs. Thornton was left thinking that maybe she had read too much into it.

* * *

Thornton spent the rest of the afternoon confined in his office, while Margaret spent it in the sitting room, reading a book by Mrs. Thornton's side. In the evening, he came back from work early so that they could attend the dinner. A carriage was readied to take them to Mr. Latimer's house. They both said goodbye to Mrs. Thornton before exiting the house and getting to the carriage.

"Miss Hale," he said, offering his hand to help her inside.

"What a gentleman you are, Mr. Thornton," she remarked with a smile, accepting his assistance and getting in.

"I'm happy to hear you have finally deemed me worthy of the term," he jested, climbing on to the seat in front of hers.

He tapped the ceiling twice, indicating to the coachman that they could be on their way. The sound of the hooves against gravel was accompanied by the soft sway of the carriage.

"Well, our first meeting didn't do you any favors," she accused.

"Oh, I remember it clearly. You scolding me, acting as if you owned the place," he said.

"Well, you deserved it," she said stubbornly. "You must admit that was very ungentlemanly behavior," she reproached.

She gasped at the sudden feel of his hand on her calf. When had his hand found its way under her dress?

"Perhaps I've been misled into thinking you find enjoyment in ungentlemanly behavior," he said with a devilish look in his eyes, as his hand made its way up to her knee.

Margaret's eyes widened and she looked frantically towards the windows, fearing they might be seen. The streets were dark and empty.

"Mr. Thornton…" she said in a cautionary tone. But her body welcomed the touch against her will. She had been thinking about what they had done throughout the day, which in turn made her want it—the most terrible of vicious cycles.

"The memory of you thrashing in abandon has not left me," he whispered, leaning in; allowing his hand to reach up to her thigh. "Have you come up with that scheme that would relieve us of our mutual ailment?" he asked, brushing his lips against hers.

"Not yet" she said in a whisper, ready to give in, and disappointed at how little it took to break her resolve.

His seduction was interrupted by the abrupt stop of the carriage. Latimer's house was closer than Thornton remembered. They descended and gave themselves a moment to sober up. When they came into the house, they found out that they were the last guests to arrive.

"Mr. Thornton, Miss Hale, welcome!" greeted Mr. Latimer with open arms. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. Everyone is in the sitting room," he added guiding them there.

Everyone was already engaged in conversation. There were two groups in the room. Fanny and her husband were talking to Ann Latimer on one side, while Mr. Bell was entertained with another gentleman on the other. Margaret couldn't recognize him because he had his back towards them.

"Good evening!" greeted Mr. Bell, leaving his conversation as soon as he spotted them.

The man he was talking to turned around and Margaret couldn't hide her shock.

"You'll be happy to see Mr. Lennox found the time to make it to Milton," he said as they approached.

Thornton's jaw clenched.

"Thornton have you met Mr. Lennox?" asked Mr. Bell, intending to introduce them.

"Yes, we had the pleasure," he said in a tone that betrayed the opposite.

"Back in London," Henry complemented.

"Oh, I see. Well, then no introductions are necessary," Mr. Bell pointed out with a smile.

"Please, allow me to thank you and your mother for taking care of Margaret," said Henry. "She looks very well."

"There's no need for thanks," he said severely, he resented the freedom with which he used her first name.

"Margaret, it's good to see you," he said turning towards her. "I trust Mr. Bell delivered my message."

"Yes, he did. Thank you for your condolences. But I'm afraid Mr. Bell failed to deliver mine," she said, trying to keep the exchange in good humor. "You didn't have to trouble yourself coming all the way here."

"Oh, of course I did," said an amused Mr. Bell. "But this gentleman wouldn't be deterred."

"It's no trouble," Henry assured her. "Everything has been arranged and you'll be happy to know we can be heading back to your aunt's house tomorrow morning," he said with a smile.

Thornton was about to interrupt when Fanny came to grab him by the arm.

"John! You're here! I hadn't seen you. Come say hello," she dragged him towards Mr. Watson and Miss Latimer. Decorum forced him to oblige his sister, but he couldn't help glancing back towards Margaret.

"Yes, my dear. Miss Dixon will also be leaving with you. The house has been cleared out," said Mr. Bell.

"I see… the thing is, Mr. Bell... I have decided I don't want to move to London," she said with a low voice, but maintaining eye contact. She knew she needed to appear determined.

"Oh! But my dear, the decision is made," he said, finding her statement amusing. "Excuse me, Mr. Lennox, can we have a moment?" he requested, asking for some privacy.

"Of course," he accepted, walking away so they could have some space.

"Now, tell me. What has brought about this change of heart?" Mr. Bell asked, lowering his voice.

"It's not a change of heart, I've never wanted to go back to London," she explained.

"I see… Well, I truly detest letting you down, but you must know you don't have the means to make a living here all by yourself," he explained. "In fact, these past few days I've considered different scenarios to safeguard your future... including making you my wife."

She paled, and he laughed at the sight of her discomfort.

"Calm down, my dear. I know I'm an old man, I wouldn't sentence you to such a boring life," he said, making her relax again. "You need a young man that cares for you, and that can guarantee your security. Which is why I've come to an agreement with Mr. Lennox."

Margaret's distress returned.

"An agreement?" she asked in confusion.

"Yes. You will marry Mr. Lennox," he said.

Margaret's blood ran cold. This had to be a nightmare.

* * *

AN. Thank you for your comments! Please note that chapter 1 has been edited a little.


	3. Chapter 3

Margaret remained in stunned silence.

"It's most convenient," said Mr. Bell. "Mr. Lennox has a good position, you have known each other for years, and he cares for you. Everything a young woman your age could possibly want in a husband," he added, genuinely proud of having come up with this solution.

"I thank you for your concern," she said in a contained, but defying tone, "but I'm afraid it is impossible."

"And why is that? Pray tell," he asked.

It annoyed Margaret that he was still smiling at her, as if everything she was saying could be attributed to a child's tantrum.

"I have a previous arrangement," she paused, "with Mr. Thornton."

"Thornton?" Mr. Bell inquired, unable to mask his initial surprise. "The same Thornton?"

"Yes," she answered proudly.

"I don't mean to pry, but such a development seemed highly unlikely," he observed, "…on your part, of course, my dear."

Margaret looked down, knowing that she had been quite open in showing her initial dislike.

"I see, I see," Mr. Bell mumbled to himself as he placed a hand under his chin. "Well, then, I shall speak with him."

Margaret nodded and sighed in relief, thinking that would be the end of the discussion. She glanced towards Henry briefly—he was conversing with Mr. Latimer. She knew he was a good man, but she was revolted by the idea of being with him as she had been with Thornton.

"Have you said hello to the rest of the party?" Mr. Bell asked, interrupting her thoughts, and leading her towards Thornton and the others.

Fanny's attention turned towards Margaret as they approached.

"Miss Hale, I heard that you'll be leaving us soon?" she asked with an overtly dramatic, worried expression on her face.

"Well-" Margaret was quickly interrupted by Fanny's continuing speech.

"If you could find the time to come and see our house before you leave, we would be happy to receive you. Isn't that right, George?" she said, turning to her husband.

"Of course!" he exclaimed in good humor.

Mr. Bell took advantage of the fact that the group's attention was on the louder conversation, and he discreetly leaned in towards Thornton.

"Can I have a moment?" he asked.

Thornton nodded and quickly exchanged glances with Margaret. He wanted to read what was going on in her eyes, but to no avail. He walked with Mr. Bell back to the center of the room, where they wouldn't be heard. Margaret smiled politely, pretending she was paying attention to Fanny's conversation, and tried hard not to look their way.

"What is it, Mr. Bell?" asked Thornton seriously.

"Thornton, were it not for the fact that Mr. Hale trusted me with the well-being of her daughter, I wouldn't meddle," he began. "But, he has. And this means that he valued my judgement."

"Where are you going with this?" he asked, wanting for Mr. Bell to go straight to the point.

"Well, you see, Miss Hale has brought to my attention that an arrangement of sorts exists between the two of you…" he explained, hoping Thornton would elaborate further.

"Indeed. She has agreed to marry me," he said, crossing his arms.

"Well, then, as her guardian, I'm afraid I must express my earnest opposition," he said calmly.

"Fortunately, I only require her approval," he argued, lifting an eyebrow.

"And what kind of approval?" asked Mr. Bell with sincere concern. "I don't doubt that you care for her, but I regret to inform you—well, you must already know, as it was blatant—that she merely tolerated you until a few weeks ago."

Thornton's brow furrowed and Mr. Bell knew that his comment had hit were it was supposed to. Seeing his strategy was working, he continued…

"She's still too young and naive, Thornton," he added, "she just lost her parents. She's vulnerable and afraid of the future."

Thornton turned to look at her briefly and considered Mr. Bell's words. Margaret seemed convinced that she wanted to be with him, but maybe it was fear pushing her in his direction. Or maybe she felt compromised by what they had already experienced physically… But she had been so passionate, it wouldn't make any sense. Thornton turned his attention back to Mr. Bell.

"She's smart enough to make her own decisions," he insisted.

"No, she's not," suddenly, Mr. Bell's tone became very severe—a rare occurrence that took Thornton by surprise. "We both know the mill is on the brink of collapse. Did you ever stop to consider that? What if it fails? How could you possibly take care of her—give her the kind of life she deserves?"

That comment made Thornton feel as if he had been stabbed in the heart. How selfish of him… How hadn't he thought of it?

"So, what do you suggest?" he asked, barely containing his anger.

"I suggest you talk to her—make her see reason," said Mr. Bell. "The best option for her, at present, is to go back to London. She needs time to clear her head and to evaluate her options. If she feels the same way in a couple of months—and if you have managed to save the mill by then—I will be the first to applaud your union."

Thornton was annoyed by his words, and especially so because they made complete sense. When Thornton's eyes lowered in deep thought, Mr. Bell knew that he had won the battle.

"I will talk to her," said Thornton, looking back up.

"I wouldn't expect any less from you, Thornton," said Mr. Bell, offering a smile that was left unrequited.

"Dinner is ready!" interrupted the voice of Mr. Latimer. "Let us move to the dining room," he said, urging everyone into the next room.

They all took their seats. Mr. Latimer sat at the head of the table, while Mr. Bell took a place to his right and Thornton to his left.

Margaret tried to occupy the seat beside Thornton's, but Ann Latimer was quicker. She ended up sitting between Mr. Bell and Henry, facing Ann. She hated herself for disliking her, but now more than ever she wanted to ask Thornton about his conversation with Mr. Bell. It would have to wait, and waiting made her anxious.

She took the glass of wine that was in front of her, and quietly sipped on it to calm her nerves. Everyone seemed to be enthralled by Mr. Latimer's conversation. Margaret wasn't sure of what the topic was, and frankly, couldn't bring herself to care. She noticed Ann leaning in towards Mr. Thornton, mouthing some words with a silly smile on her face. Margaret's grasp tightened around her cup when she saw Thornton smile back at her. What was he doing? She fought the urge to throw the glass at him.

"The wine is delicious, is it not?" asked Henry, diverting Margaret's attention.

"Oh, yes, indeed it is," she said.

She blushed when she noticed there was almost nothing left in her glass, while everyone else's was still half full—she usually never drank.

"I find that a glass of wine also helps me sleep better at night," he commented, as he cut the steak he had been served.

"Interesting," said Margaret, smiling politely.

When she turned to look at Thornton, she saw the jealousy in his eyes and she raised an eyebrow defiantly; he had done the same to her. The connection was broken when one of the servants filled up her glass before she could refuse.

"So, about tomorrow…" said Henry, "what time would you deem best for our departure?"

Suddenly, Margaret was thankful that her glass was full. She took another sip before attempting to provide an answer.

"Oh, well, Henry-" Margaret was interrupted by Mr. Bell, who had overheard the question.

"Don't worry about it, Mr. Lennox," he said, leaning into the table so he could meet his eyes. "We'll talk about it on our way back," he added.

Henry nodded and didn't press any further. Margaret was sure that, once they left, Mr. Bell would explain to him that she intended to marry Mr. Thornton. Surely, everything would be alright.

Her cheeks felt warm and her head a little dizzy. She realized she had downed a second glass of wine while deep in thought. She put the glass on the table and placed her hands between her skirt and the seat to avoid reaching for it again. She remained silent and very still in order to not betray her wooziness. Only Mr. Thornton, who had been glancing towards her repeatedly, noticed her sudden apprehension and the blush on her cheeks.

When everybody finished their meal, they stood up. Margaret held on to the table and incorporated herself slowly. In the process, the room tilted before her eyes. She stumbled slightly, but Henry steadied her, grabbing her by the shoulders.

"Are you well, Margaret?" he asked, alarmed.

"Yes," she said smiling, trying to make it seem unimportant. "I'm just feeling a little tired, that's all."

"If that's the case, then it's best for Thornton to take you back to rest, my dear," advised Mr. Bell.

Thornton looked towards them with a mixture of concern and jealousy.

"Yes," Thornton agreed. "It's getting late and I have a lot to do tomorrow morning," he said, providing another excuse. "Thank you for everything Mr. Latimer."

"My pleasure, Thornton. Anytime." said Mr. Latimer, before shaking his hand. "Miss Hale, I hope you have a pleasant trip."

Margaret smiled politely; too dizzy to let him know she was actually going nowhere. She figured they would realize it soon enough.

"Please, Margaret, let me escort you outside," said Henry, as he offered his arm for support.

Thornton clenched his teeth as they walked with their arms interlocked. He knew it would have been rude of her to refuse Henry's request in public, nevertheless it made his blood boil.

After exchanging their goodbyes, they walked towards the main entrance, accompanied by Mr. Bell. Henry helped Margaret get into the carriage. Once she was inside and away from the view of others, she rested her head against the opposite window unabashedly. She could almost laugh at how everything seemed to be spinning. When Thornton was about to follow her in, Mr. Bell's words stopped him.

"Please, let Miss Hale know we'll come by early in the morning," he said in a low voice. "Just in time to catch the first train," he added with that characteristic smile.

The ferocity in the glare Thornton directed at him was enough to make that smile vanish. He didn't say anything; he just entered the carriage and closed the door forcefully, startling Margaret. He tapped twice on the ceiling and the carriage went on its way, leaving Mr. Bell and Mr. Lennox behind.

"What was that all about?" asked Henry.

"Oh, nothing," he said, disregarding the whole scene. "That's just Thornton being his normal self," he explained.

"Now I feel terrible for Margaret. She must have been miserable these past few days," mused Henry.

"Yes… surely," said Mr. Bell in an unconvinced tone.

"It worries me that she believes she wants to stay here," he added.

"She's confused, Mr. Lennox. I'm sure she just needs a couple of days back with her family to see things differently," he said reassuringly. "Once you're there, you'll have time to procure her affections. I'm sure you'll be married by the end of the year," he said, placing his hand on Henry's back. They both shared a hearty laugh.

* * *

The sway of the carriage made it even more difficult for Margaret to focus her eyes on Mr. Thornton, but she could tell he was fuming. Now that she was alone with him, she knew she didn't have to pretend anymore. Shamelessly and awkwardly, she abandoned her place to take the seat beside him. When she wobbled on her way, he was quick to grab her by the waist to help her.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Her head fell on his chest and she started giggling. She felt lightheaded, but in a good way, she didn't have a care in the world.

"How much did you drink?" he asked, grabbing her by the shoulders to push her back and inspect her face.

"Just two glasses," she said, lifting her two fingers up.

"Well, that is not much, but you barely ate anything," he noted.

"You seem so irritated," she said, imitating his face and placing her hands on the sides of his face. A part of her was enjoying this new-found drunken confidence.

"Margaret, stop," he said, grabbing her by the wrists.

"It's Miss Hale for you!" she said, before giggling once more. "Mind you, this is why people compare you to bulldogs... I heard so myself once," she said referring to what she had heard Nicholas say.

"What?" he asked in confusion.

"But I told him: no! Mr. Thornton looks nothing like a bulldog, he's the most handsome gentleman there is," she said giddily, tangling her arms around his neck.

This comment did make Thornton smile slightly.

"You didn't say that," he accused.

"Well, not exactly that," she confessed, "but I certainly thought of it," she added, smiling widely and expecting her flattery to earn her a kiss.

Thornton saw the invitation in her eyes, but fought hard not to give in. Although he was thoroughly enjoying Margaret's advances, as well as her closeness, he knew he had to bring up that delicate subject before coming into the house.

"Margaret, I'm serious. I must explain my conversation with Mr. Bell," he said.

Margaret pulled back and looked at him in confusion.

"Why? I thought you had made our circumstances clear," she said.

"I did... but he pointed out some issues I had failed to consider."

His pained expression scared her. Her arms fell back to her sides.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

The carriage came to a stop; they had arrived to the house. Thornton stuck out his head through the window to address the coachman.

"Take another turn," he requested.

As the carriage got back into motion, he knew that the coachman would suspect, but it was the least of his worries at the moment. He turned his attention back to Margaret, whose eyes were filled with uncertainty.

"I fear that your feelings could be fleeting," he said, looking directly at her. "We found ourselves in a compromising position when you were in a vulnerable state, and in response, you may have convinced yourself that you wanted to be with me."

"No, that's not true," she whispered, but he continued…

"You suffered a terrible loss and you may be making rash decisions because you fear for your future. And I couldn't bear knowing that I allowed you to tie yourself to me under such circumstances," he explained.

"What?" she asked in a whisper, the anger slowly building up inside of her. "What?" she repeated, more indignantly. "How can you say that? When I have practically given myself to you…" The alcohol made the question come out a little too loudly.

"No, you never came to me," he said, "I came to you, and I shouldn't have…"

"You shouldn't have?" she echoed his words with resentment. "Do you regret it?" she asked offended.

"You were grieving—you _are_ grieving."

"That has nothing to do with it!" she spoke over him.

"I shouldn't have and I shall not touch you like that again. Not until I know that you truly want this—that you won't come to regret your decision. Let Mr. Bell take you to London. Be with your family and give yourself time to think about what you want."

"But I know what I want! Why would you send me away?" she asked, her voice breaking.

"I would remain silent, were I more selfish," he said, taking her hand in his and pressing it against his chest. "But I care too much for you to let my wishes blind me from this matter."

Margaret believed he was being honest, but it offended her that he wouldn't grant her the same trust.

"I will come to see you in a month. If you say nothing to me then, I'll know that you have changed your mind, and we will speak no more of it," he said, convinced that he was doing the right thing by giving her a way out.

"What is it with men?" she asked in disappointment, pulling her hand away from his. "Always presuming to know what we want better than us."

The carriage stopped again and she descended clumsily. She intended to ignore him as she made her way up to her room, but the alcohol made her lose her balance. In the end, she had no other option but to allow Thornton to help her into the house and up the stairs. The house was silent. Anna and Mrs. Thornton had already retired for the night.

Once in the hallway, she walked into her room, not even bidding him good night. She closed the door, and let herself slide down to the floor as she cried in silence.

She was livid. How could he do this to her? A part of her understood where his doubts were coming from, but another was deeply hurt. She wanted to be with him and she was sure she wouldn't change her mind. Furthermore, she had hardly been able to stand a whole day without his touch, how was she supposed to go on without it for a whole month? She hated him… Every single day would be torture.

She dried her tears and she stood back up on shaky legs. She loosened her hair, and had a hard time getting out of her dress; her uncooperative fingers fighting against every button. When she was finally in her underwear, her chest was heaving in exertion. Next time she would need to remind herself to limit her wine consumption to just one glass.

As she fumbled to find the laces of her corset, she thought of whether she had really done enough to convince Thornton that she wanted him. Maybe she could prove to him that this whole idea of sending her to London was completely unnecessary…

 _"_ _No, you never came to me… I came to you…"_

He was right… She had never shown initiative in making her own desires known in that way. She just needed to prove him wrong. The wine made her think that this was the best idea she had ever had.

* * *

Mr. Thornton entered his room. He felt as if his feet were made of lead, every step he took was heavy. He discarded his coat, waistcoat and cravat unceremoniously, leaving them on the floor. He sat on the edge of his bed, and buried his face in his hands in frustration. The motives he had given her were sincere; he still doubted that such a woman could care for him. But he had intentionally avoided mentioning his financial struggles as one of the reasons—an admission of that nature would be humiliating.

She said she wanted him now—now that she thought he could provide for her… Those inclinations could change drastically if the mill went under. It was only fair to wait until that matter was clear before he asked her to make a decision.

Furthermore, his work at the mill had been increasingly neglected because of the distraction of having her so close. While he was supposed to be securing the livelihoods of his employees and his own family, he wasted precious time reminiscing about every part of her body. Even now, he was becoming aroused against his will. He shook his head. He needed to stop thinking about her.

He told himself that this would be for the best. Once she left, his passions would hopefully become more manageable, and he would be able to focus on saving the mill. Saving the mill meant he could provide for her, and thus could return to ask for her hand with no reservations.

Doubt started creeping in… what if she did change her mind? She was a very beautiful and intelligent woman, surely other men—undoubtedly including Henry Lennox—would try to court her… He growled, already feeling jealous of her potential suitors. His head snapped up when he heard the door of his room open.

He was surprised to see Margaret enter, she closed the door behind her and leaned back against it. She was in her underwear; although he had seen her wearing less, his heart-rate quickened. Her shoulders, arms, cleavage and legs were bare, only covered by a fine sleeveless chemise with ruffles at the bottom, which was encased by her corset.

Her boldness and blush betrayed the fact that the wine was still in her system. Thornton eyed her up and down, and he tightened his fists.

"Did you see another ghost, Miss Hale?" he asked, the tone of his voice giving away his tension.

Margaret smiled drunkenly and shook her head.

"I'm just a little dizzy," she said, proving her statement by unsteadily walking in his direction. "And I can't reach," she explained, turning around and showing her the tight laces of her corset.

His hand was already midair.

"Don't," he said, standing up and bringing his hand back down.

"I'm tired. I just want it to be off, so I can get to bed," she said.

This statement calmed him down. He just needed to get it done swiftly, so she could return to her room.

Thornton's hand reached for the end of the lace and pulled slower than he had intended. She closed her eyes, feeling the whisper of his touch through her chemise as he loosened every tie. When he got to the last tie at the top, his fingers slightly brushed her naked back, making her sigh. The sound didn't escape Thornton's ears, and his body responded of its own accord.

"It's done," he said, hoarsely. He cleared his throat, "you can go to bed now."

She turned around. She was so close that he could feel the heat of her body through his clothes.

"It's not done," she said, locking eyes with him.

"Margaret, I beg you-"

"You haven't unhooked it," she interrupted his plea, showing him the hooks on the front of the corset.

Thornton let out a ragged breath, not knowing if she was deliberately trying to seduce him. It did seem like a complicated contraption even for a pair of sober hands.

He completed his task, excruciatingly slow. The corset fell on the floor, but neither of them said anything. Her eyes held his in a hypnotic trance.

Her hands moved to the top button on his shirt. She maintained eye contact as she undid it, daring him to stop her. He swallowed hard, but remained silent. She continued with the rest of the buttons; her suddenly dexterous fingers grazing his chest and his abdomen as she made her way down. When she finished, her hands sneaked under his shirt and she pressed her palms down on his torso. He closed his eyes, relishing the skin to skin contact.

Her hands traveled all the way up to his shoulders, and she enjoyed how hard he felt underneath her fingertips. She continued her exploration, bringing her hands from his shoulders down his arms, taking his shirt off in the process, and finally leaving it to fall right next to her corset.

She placed one of her hands on his chest and she pushed him, making him step back until his knees touched the edge of the bed, and subsequently forcing him to sit down.

She brought her legs up to the mattress until she was on her knees, straddling him. Once she settled on top of him, she encircled her arms around his neck.

"Am I being sufficiently clear?" she asked, leaning in, bringing her lips perilously close to his. "Can you be sure of what I want now?"

"Margaret," he whispered, breaking eye contact, "I said I wouldn't touch you," he said, gripping the edge of the mattress so he could keep his hands away from her.

Her hands cupped his face, making him look back at her. The provocative smile she directed at him was irresistible; she was behaving like the Margaret that had tortured him in his dreams—the experienced seductress.

"I don't recall making such a claim," she said, moving her hands to his chest and pushing him to lay back.

She leaned in, pressing her body against his, and caressing his ear with her lips, "how about now?" she asked.

She licked his earlobe, making him groan. His hands fled to her thighs, grasping her skin aggressively. Paradoxically, he wanted for the motion to both, stop and encourage her.

"Don't," he said, unable to match his words with any decisive action.

She pulled back to look him in the eye and she straight-out laughed at his request. The gleam in her eyes made Thornton believe she had been possessed by the devil, and that she was adamant in dragging him down to hell with her.

She lowered her face to his neck, kissing her way down his torso. Before he knew it, his eyes were closed and his hands were lost in the soft tresses of her hair. She made her way back up following the same pattern. When she took a look at his face, she noticed he had started sweating.

"How about now?" she repeated the question before burning his lower lip with a flick of her tongue.

His hand seized her by the throat.

"You're not yourself," he accused.

She bit her lower lip enticingly, and he wanted nothing but to take it into his mouth. He felt her palms on his chest; they made their way down his abdomen, reaching the top of his trousers. He was so aroused at this point that she wouldn't fail to notice. She attempted to undo the first button, but his free hand grasped one of her wrists in a panic.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked menacingly, shifting his hold from her throat to her jaw.

"Communicating," she said. Applying what she had learned from him, she brought her unbound hand lower to feel him through the fabric of his trousers.

He grunted and shut his eyes tightly in bittersweet misery. How could this woman have so much power? One stroke and he was already on the brink of coming undone.

"And what is it you wish to communicate, witch?" he asked lustfully; the pleasure clouding his judgement and tempting him to surrender.

His reaction told her she was doing something right, and although she could tell his inner battle was causing him pain, having this effect on him excited her tremendously. The proud Mr. Thornton was at her mercy, and it made her feel like the most powerful woman in the world. That feeling, mixed with her lust and her drunken recklessness proved to be explosive.

"That I want you," she whispered, stroking him again and drawing another groan from him. "That I have no business in London," she said, mirroring his words, and repeating the motion.

Those statements made him ache even more for her, but they also pulled him out of his haze. The mention of London reminded him of the discussion with Mr. Bell; his love had to be stronger than his passion. He pushed her to the side and stood up so she wouldn't make him lose what little was left of his sanity.

"You're drunk," he whispered in agony. "You don't know what you're saying nor doing. I must stand by what I said before; you will go to London tomorrow morning," he said in a rush, taking advantage of that moment of lucidity. "You should leave now," he added, not realizing how harsh it had sounded.

Margaret was furious, not only because of his stubbornness, but also because she felt rejected and humiliated. She stood up and slapped him hard across the face, the sound echoing throughout the house.

He straightened up and looked back at her with clenched teeth. One of her nails had slightly scratched his cheek, leaving a red mark. Her eyes were burning with rage, and so were his.

"You're a blind fool, John Thornton!" she declared. "Do not trouble yourself coming to London," she spat, "surely, by then I will have found a more willing man, like Henry," she lied, intending to hurt him as deeply as he had.

That finally made him lose his temper. How dare she suggest she would be giving herself to another man? How dare she presume anyone else—let alone Henry—could desire her more than he did?

"A more _willing_ man?" he asked, narrowing his eyes and stepping closer. He turned her around and pushed her unto the bed again, facing forward. He trapped her in that position with his body. "Is this what you want?" he asked against her ear, angrily, "for me to put all my feelings aside and take you like an animal?" he lifted up her chemise and he kneaded her thigh, "just say the word… I'm more than capable of it."

She became silent, shocked by his words. She felt his breath blowing against the nape of her neck. The effects of the alcohol started gradually dissipating, as well as her anger.

She attempted to turn around to face him, so he lifted his body up to give her the necessary space. She tentatively brought her hand up to his face. He stared at her, waiting for an answer.

"I want to be with you," she said, her voice breaking. "I love you," she whispered, and placed a tender kiss on his lips.

Thornton's anger melted away before her sweet words. She said she loved him... Maybe there was no need for her to go, maybe they could face the hardships together. He kissed her, and savored the taste of her. She pulled him towards her with her arms and legs. The kiss turned fiery almost immediately, fueled by all the raw emotions they had been through.

A knock on the door froze them in place; Margaret's eyes widened in alarm and Thornton stepped away from her. They hadn't exactly moderated their voices during their argument.

"Is everything alright, John? I heard some noises," asked Mrs. Thornton from behind the door.

Thornton held his hand up towards Margaret, implicitly asking for her to remain quiet. He hoped she wouldn't open the door; Margaret could have time to hide, but there was too much evidence scattered on the floor.

"Go back to bed mother. It's Anna sleepwalking again," he said, trying to sound as if he had been woken up.

There was a brief silence that seemed infinite.

"Very well, good night," she said.

They both sighed in relief. The interruption brought him back to his senses. His resolve had crumbled when she had talked of love; and he believed her, he truly did. But he was still apprehensive concerning the mill's unresolved business.

Margaret sat on the edge of the bed, not sure of what to do. She was scared of walking out, in case Mrs. Thornton was still lingering about.

"Wait a few minutes," he whispered.

She nodded. She was tired; she pulled up her legs and lay on her side, resting her head on the pillow. Thornton walked around the bed and climbed up from the other side so he could encircle her waist from behind. With their passions momentarily subdued, they enjoyed the embrace; her back against his chest.

"Margaret, you must know I love you," he whispered, tightening his hold. "And if you love me—as you say you do—I ask you to consider my request with a cool head," he said, his voice all gentleness.

She turned around to face him. She nodded weakly and rested her cheek on his chest, ready to hear the words that she dreaded.

"It would give me great reassurance to know that you had time to heal before you chose to be with me," he said. Once again, he avoided mentioning the mill's financial crisis, which made him feel a little guilty.

"My feelings won't change," she whispered back.

"Then, why are you so reluctant?" he asked. "It's only to give me some peace of mind."

She buried her face in his chest. Sobriety made her embarrassment come back.

"I think we're past any pretense of propriety," he said, noticing her hesitation.

Seeing the truth in his words, she faced him.

"Well, can't you tell?" she asked with a blush, "I cannot even go one day without missing your touch; how am I supposed to go without it a whole month?"

He let out a throaty laugh, and cut it short when he remembered they had almost been caught.

"You take pleasure in my suffering?" she asked, failing to see the humor.

"Forgive me… although a moment ago you seemed to be thoroughly enjoying mine," he said.

He was right; she had forgotten how she had gotten in his room. With no alcohol in her veins, she looked back on her behavior with mortification. She had acted like a harlot. She covered her face with her hands.

"But your seduction was certainly more pleasant than the blow," he added, noting her discomfort with some amusement.

She gasped and her body squirmed at the memory. She had hit him! That was probably what had brought Mrs. Thornton out of bed… She sat up and she used her hand to turn his face to the side. She was horrified by the scratch on his cheekbone.

"How awful," she said, "I shall never have another glass of wine again," she vowed, tracing the mark with her index finger cautiously.

"Oh, no," he countered almost immediately, "I'm sure such a strict measure is completely unnecessary," he argued with a mischievous smile, not wanting for this to be his last encounter with that version of Margaret.

Realizing what he meant, she couldn't help but smile coyly in return. She was relieved that he didn't shame her for what she had done—especially because she had enjoyed it…

"One month. Not a day more," she ordered.

"Not a day more," he repeated, taking her hand and kissing it.

She looked at him intently. She wanted to take it all in, so she wouldn't forget the sight of him in this setting, so she could recall how easy it was being together, their bodies and souls bare. If she didn't leave now, she wouldn't be able to do so later

"I should go," she whispered. She was also afraid of accidentally falling asleep in his room.

He stood up, and walked towards the door. He opened it and made sure that it was safe to cross the hallway. He closed it again slowly.

"It's empty," he said.

Margaret stood up and Thornton handed her the corset that he had picked up from the floor. When she tried to take it from him, he tightened his grasp. She looked at him in confusion. He leaned in and kissed her, wanting to make the moment last as long as possible.

"I already miss you," he whispered against her lips, letting go of the garment.

She caressed his face but didn't say it back. She couldn't help but resent him a little; whatever reasons he had, he was the one inflicting the pain of separation upon them.

"Good night," she whispered before leaving the room.

* * *

The next morning, Margaret's suitcases were already packed and placed beside the entrance when she came into the dining room. Only Mrs. Thornton was there, drinking her coffee.

"Good morning," she greeted.

"Good morning," Mrs. Thornton replied. "I hear you'll be leaving us this morning."

"Yes. I must thank you once more for your kindness," said Margaret.

"I hope you know that I do wish you the best," she said earnestly.

Margaret smiled.

"Good morning," greeted Mr. Thornton, taking his usual place.

"John! What happened to your face?" asked Mrs. Thornton with concern.

Margaret blushed.

"Shaving mishap," he said casually, "nothing serious."

Anna came around serving each a breakfast plate. Margaret stared at hers, but she couldn't eat anything, her stomach was in knots.

"You seem unwell, Miss Hale," observed Mrs. Thornton. "Was last night's dinner party so dreadful?" she asked.

"Not at all, Mrs. Thornton," she answered, with a polite smile. "I'm afraid traveling always makes me lose my appetite."

"Any news from the Latimers?" she asked, turning towards John.

"None worth sharing," he said.

Mrs. Thornton found his biting tone very strange. She was sure that the reason for his behavior was Margaret's departure. It also caught her attention that they hadn't interacted with each other at all.

There was a knock on the door, and they interrupted their meal to escort Margaret to the entrance. Anna had already greeted them, and Mr. Lennox was loading Margaret's suitcases in the carriage. Dixon could be seen through the window, waiting inside.

"Good morning," greeted Mr. Bell. "Please, accept our apologies for interrupting your breakfast. But we must make haste if we want to catch the early train."

"Of course, Mr. Bell," said Mrs. Thornton.

Henry approached once more, to see if there were any more suitcases. "Good morning!" he greeted everyone with a smile.

He noticed a smaller suitcase by the door and he attempted to grab it.

"I'll take that one, Henry," said Margaret, stopping him. "I'll be right there," she added.

Henry nodded and walked towards the carriage to wait beside it.

She bent down and took out a book from the suitcase. The book she had meant to give to Mr. Thornton when she parted. She turned to face them.

"Thank you very much for everything you've done for me," she said looking at Mrs. Thornton.

She turned to John and extended her arms, offering the book.

"It's father's Plato," she explained with a melancholic smile. "I thought you should have it."

He smiled in return and took the book from her hands, their fingers brushing briefly.

"I shall treasure it," he said.

"Please, tell Nicholas and Mary that I will write," she begged.

"Of course," he responded dutifully.

There was a pause in which they just stared at each other.

"I hope we will see each other again," she said, trying to communicate everything she couldn't with her eyes.

"I'm sure we will," he said, intending to do the same.

Mr. Bell and Mrs. Thornton exchanged glances awkwardly. The first, knowing that there was something more to the whole scene; and the latter, suspecting it. They both said nothing.

Mr. Bell cleared his throat.

"We should go now, my dear," he said, taking Margaret's suitcase.

She nodded.

"Goodbye," she said before turning around.

"See you soon," said Mr. Bell, tipping his hat and following Margaret's footsteps.

Every step she took towards the coach broke her heart, but she fought the tears that were threatening to flow. She tried to convince herself that the month's end would come in the blink of an eye.

Thornton watched from the entrance as Henry helped her get into the carriage. Bile rising in his throat, he wondered if he was making a mistake.

Mrs. Thornton looked at her son as he stared at the carriage draw away. She was sure now that something had happened between them.

* * *

AN. I hope you liked it! Thank you again for all your comments, I really appreciate them.


	4. Chapter 4

The first days in London weren't as bad as Margaret thought they would be. Although she found her aunt overbearing, she enjoyed spending time with Edith. The afternoons flew by as they talked about memories from their childhood and played with little Sholto. These activities, though simple, succeeded in distracting her and keeping her in a good mood.

The nights, on the other hand, she dreaded. Once she was alone in her bed, there was no distraction from Thornton's absence; it was the only thing she could think about. The torturous memory of his touch made her skin ache with desire. And, even after finally managing to fall asleep, he was there, tormenting her with kisses and caresses that amounted to nothing once morning came.

"Are you alright, Miss Margaret?" asked Dixon, as she opened the curtains in her room to let the morning light in, as she always did. "We've been here two weeks, and every morning you look wearier than before. It's as if the nights were absorbing your vitality," she observed.

"Good morning to you, too, Dixon. I'm sure many ladies would love hearing such flattering remarks when waking," she said sarcastically, but knowing there was a truth to her words.

"I meant no disrespect, I'm just worried about you," she said, turning to her seriously.

"I know. There's nothing to worry about," she reassured her.

"Very well," she said, trying to believe her. "Your bath is ready. I will come back later to help you get dressed."

"Thank you," said Margaret before Dixon exited the room.

Margaret walked towards the bathroom and she closed the door behind her. She smiled when she saw the steam coming out from the bathtub. She took off her nightgown and immersed herself in the water's warm embrace. She closed her eyes and sighed in contentment. She thought of how relaxing this was… and then she wondered what Thornton would do to her if he saw her like this.

Before she could stop herself, her brain had already worked out the whole daydream. There was no doubt that he would approach her with those hungry eyes she had gotten to know so well, he would sit by the bathtub and roll up his sleeves. She would close her eyes in pleasure when his hand started caressing her neck, and she would gasp—but say nothing—when it started traveling lower, brushing her breasts, her abdomen, until it finally reached that spot in which she craved it most.

When she realized she had been touching herself, following that same path, she opened her eyes and cursed at her own lack of restraint. Her core pulsed with need and her breath had quickened; the heat of the water and the lack of oxygen were making her feel lightheaded. Couldn't she just stop thinking about him? She took the lathered washcloth and started scrubbing her skin roughly, partially intending to get rid of both, the memory and the illusion, of his touch. When she thought of the two weeks that were still ahead, she suppressed a frustrated cry.

An hour later she was sitting in the dining room with Aunt Shaw, Edith and her husband. Just like her bed, the bath had also robbed her of her energy, rather than replenish it. Although everyone could tell, they attributed it to her mourning, and didn't ask about it.

"Margaret, Henry is planning to call on us today," said Edith with a bright smile, as she buttered a slice of bread.

"I see," said Margaret smiling politely, adding a spoonful of sugar to her coffee.

"Well, three days in a row!" exclaimed Aunt Shaw.

"Indeed!" confirmed Edith, "I wonder why he has been so keen in visiting as of late…" she commented, raising her eyebrows and eyeing Margaret.

Margaret ignored the comment, and sipped her coffee. She had grown accustomed to all of her cousin's suggestive remarks; it was no secret that Edith wanted her to get engaged to Henry. She found the comments very annoying, but she had learnt that silence was more effective than any retort she could come up with.

Henry had been coming nearly every day and almost always stayed for dinner, since Edith never failed to extend the invitation. Margaret didn't mind, she didn't dislike him, and they could have agreeable conversations. But she became apprehensive when there was any insinuation of them ending up together.

That afternoon he called on them, as he had promised, and they all sat together in the drawing room.

"Margaret, I'm happy to see you're looking much better," said Henry.

Margaret knew he was lying, she had hardly had a restful night's sleep, but she smiled all the same.

"Thank you, Henry. It's all because they have taken great care of me here," she said looking kindly towards her cousin and aunt.

"Oh, please! We're family, that is what we're here for," said Aunt Shaw. "And, of course, London is a very uplifting city… I still can't believe how your father was capable of taking you to such an awful town."

Margaret was about to retort when Henry spoke.

"Indeed. I had the chance to see it when I escorted Margaret to London, and I must say it's one of the saddest places I've seen," said Henry.

"It's easy to miss its charm at first sight," argued Margaret.

"Well, I've never seen it, but I remember your letters, Margaret," said Edith with Sholto propped on her knees. "You painted a dreadful picture—and boring! Not a thing to do but taking walks."

"We're lucky to live in a place such as London," said Maxwell. "There's always something to do."

"I agree, brother," said Henry. "In fact, there is a new play premiering at St. James' Theatre next Friday, and I was thinking we could all go see it," he suggested.

"What an excellent idea!" exclaimed Edith, smiling widely.

"Oh, how tedious," said Aunt Shaw, "I can't stand plays anymore. The four of you can go. I will take care of my dear Sholto," she said looking at her grandson with adoration.

"Aren't you excited, Margaret?" asked Edith, looking at her cousin expectantly.

"Yes," she responded smiling, but not with as much enthusiasm as Edith was hoping for.

Edith asked Henry about the play's plot, but Margaret wasn't paying attention anymore. She didn't doubt that the outing would be entertaining, but she couldn't help thinking that she would rather be doing something boring with Thornton, than something fun without him.

When it was time to move to the dining room for supper, Henry offered his arm to escort her. She accepted, and let him lead her to the table. On their way, he took advantage of the fact that the others were out of hearing range.

"I didn't lie when I said you look well tonight," he said, admiring her face.

Margaret felt very uncomfortable. Hadn't she made herself clear when she had rejected his proposal?

"You should save those compliments for the young ladies you want to impress," she jested. Thinking that she was making it clear they were just friends.

"I only speak the truth," he said with a flirtatious smile.

Margaret hoped he was just being friendly.

The dinner was slow and tedious. Margaret was thankful when they were free to retire for bed. Dixon helped her get out of her dress, and then she, too, retired for the night. As she rested her head on her pillow, she thought of him. She wondered how he was doing, and if he was thinking of her. She wanted to know if he missed her as much as she did—up to a point in which it was physically painful… She fell asleep knowing that the pain would also be there in the morning, and the next morning, and the one after that…

The week went by in the blink of an eye for everyone except for Margaret, who was counting down the days. Thornton was supposed to be back next week, and she could not wait for the next seven days to be over.

For now she was sitting in the drawing room with Edith, Henry and Maxwell, wearing one of her most elegant dresses. They were having some tea because they still had an hour to kill before it was time to leave for the theater.

The conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. Edith exchanged glances with her husband.

"Where you expecting anyone?" she asked with curiosity.

"No, my dear," he said.

Suddenly, the maid entered the room.

"It's a Mr. Bell," she announced.

"Oh, let him in!" said Edith, knowing he was Mr. Hale's old friend.

Mr. Bell entered the drawing room.

"Good evening, everyone. I'm sorry for calling on you unannounced," he began.

"Don't worry, Mr. Bell. Join us," said Henry, extending his hand towards an empty space in the couch.

"Oh no, don't worry, Mr. Lennox. I won't be long," he said, remaining in his place. "I didn't have a chance to give notice because this was an unexpected stop in my journey. I was actually on my way to Milton, but the train had a malfunction. I'm afraid I won't be able to get there until tomorrow morning," he lamented with a sigh. "But anyway," he said, tapping on his chest, and smiling again. "I couldn't find myself in London and not make the time to check upon Miss Hale," he explained. "But, I see I was worrying over nothing. You look radiant, my dear," he said, admiring her beauty.

Margaret looked down, embarrassed at being singled out in front of the group.

"May I ask where you're going?" he inquired, shifting his attention towards Henry.

"We're heading out to the theatre," he said.

"Just the four of you?" he asked, lowering his voice and raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"Yes," he said, giving him a complicit smile that Margaret disliked.

"I see," said Mr. Bell. "Well, I only came to see if you were better, and I'm happy to confirm that you are," he said.

"Thank you, Mr. Bell," said Margaret. "Will you stay long in Milton?" she asked.

"Just for the day… I will be heading to Brighton after; I'm interested in acquiring a property by the sea," he said.

"What a charming idea," said Edith, "I'm sure there's nothing more romantic than being able to look at the ocean whenever you want."

"Indeed, Mrs. Lennox," said Mr. Bell.

"Then, you'll be stopping again in London on your way back, won't you?" asked Henry.

"I suppose so," said Mr. Bell.

"Oh! Then you must join us for dinner the day after tomorrow, Mr. Bell," ordered Edith. "This visit has been too brief," she complained.

"I'll be delighted," he said. "But, I must be going now. I don't want to keep you," he added bowing slightly. "I wish you all a lovely night."

"Thank you. Don't forget, we'll be waiting for you on Sunday," said Edith.

"I would never. See you then," he said with a smile before exiting the room.

"What a lovely gentleman, I understand why he was uncle's closest friend," said Edith, turning towards Margaret.

"Excuse me," said Margaret, before bolting out after Mr. Bell.

The others remained in the drawing room, exchanging quizzical looks.

"Mr. Bell, wait," said Margaret, stopping him in the hallway that led to the main entrance.

"What is it, my dear?" he asked, with a concerned look on his face.

"Have you any news from Mr. Thornton?" she asked.

"I'm afraid I don't," he said, a little disappointed that Thornton was still in her mind. He thought that by now she would be smitten with Mr. Lennox. "I haven't seen him since we left together. Tomorrow is the first time I return to Milton since then."

"I see," she said, visibly saddened. "Will you meet with him tomorrow?" she asked; hope coming back to her eyes.

"Yes," he confessed.

"Could you please let him know... that I'm thinking of him?" she asked, not caring at all about how pathetic she sounded. "He's coming to London next week… but regardless, could you?"

"Yes," he nodded, "yes, of course."

"Thank you," she said with a smile. "Have a safe trip."

Mr. Bell smiled, bowed slightly once more and exited the house.

As he made his way to his hotel, he thought that maybe Margaret needed more time with Mr. Lennox before the scenario he had visualized could play out. After all, they were going to the theater in a double date and that was a great sign. Thornton's visit would ruin it all, though.

* * *

The next morning, Mr. Bell caught the early train to Milton. He needed to pay a visit to Mr. Thornton in order to evaluate how he was doing and determine if there was a need to start scouting for new tenants.

Mr. Bell thought Thornton was an admirable businessman, but he was convinced that rescuing the mill in such a short period of time was impossible—even for him. When he arrived to town, he made his way to Marlborough Mills and knocked on his office's door.

"Come in!" he heard him exclaim from inside.

Mr. Bell opened the door and found him focused on the papers on his desk. He looked very tired, disheveled and had circles under his eyes. It looked like it had been a couple of days since he had last shaved and his cravat was gone. His rolled up sleeves revealed that his forearms were covered in blotches of ink.

"Dear Lord, Thornton!" exclaimed Mr. Bell, with worry in his eyes. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Mr. Bell, don't trouble me with unnecessary questions. What do you want?" he asked bitterly.

"Very well," he said. "I wanted an update on your situation. As I said before, it would be best for me to start looking for tenants now if things are going awry. And by the look of you, it seems that they are…"

This time, Thornton couldn't bring himself to disagree with him. It seemed that everything he had done—even sending Margaret away—had been completely useless.

"I managed to get an extension for the loan," he said.

"How long?" asked Mr. Bell.

"Another month," he said, bringing his hand to the bridge of his nose. The lack of sleep was giving him a terrible headache.

"Well I'm sure that extension was granted in exchange for a higher interest rate…"

Thornton's silence confirmed this was true.

"Even if your buyers pay on time, you will need support from investors to cover that extra cost," added Mr. Bell.

"I'm aware of that, Mr. Bell. And I shall procure them," he said with annoyance.

"Thornton, you should give this up now… You must know that's hardly enough time to secure any investors," Mr. Bell observed, knowing very well that this would only lengthen the mill's impending doom. "Or…" he pondered out loud. "Mr. Watson has told me about his financial venture… maybe if you were to join him, things could turn back around."

He had heard this proposal before from his sister and mother, and he had refused both times. He would not risk his workers' salaries, even if in the end it meant losing the mill. Thornton detested the way Mr. Bell took the liberty of voicing his opinion, and it became manifest in his murderous glare.

"I would appreciate you leaving all matters concerning my business to me," he said severely.

"I understand," he said. "But, I don't see how you'll find time to head to London next week," he observed.

"What?" he asked.

"Miss Hale told me you had plans to go," he explained.

"Did you see her?" he asked, his facial expression suddenly becoming gentler. "How is she?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I just saw her yesterday," he explained. "She seems to be doing very well."

"Did she say anything?" he asked, wondering if she had conveyed a message for him.

"No," said Mr. Bell, choosing to ignore Margaret's request.

"Did she know you were coming to see me?" he asked, a little confused.

"Yes, but she didn't say anything else," Mr. Bell insisted, immediately noting the disappointment caused by his words.

"Will you be seeing her again soon?" he asked.

"I have plans to dine with her family tomorrow night," he explained.

Thornton took out a sealed envelope from his desk's drawer.

"With things the way they are, I can't make it to London next week," he said. "I meant to post this earlier explaining the circumstances to her, but I haven't found the time. If it isn't too much trouble—delivering it through you would be faster and safer," he explained handing the letter to him.

"It's no trouble at all, Thornton," he said, taking the letter from his hand and placing it in his coat's breast pocket. "Although, I must warn you, you may not get the response you expect," he warned.

Thornton's eyes narrowed as he waited for further explanation.

"I feel compelled to tell you… that her feelings may have changed," he said with a serious tone. "In fact, just last night, she was looking very handsome in company of Mr. Henry Lennox. They were heading out to the theater."

Those words were like a punch to his stomach; he tried to mask his reaction. Was it possible that she had changed her mind already?

"Anyway, I will leave you now. I see that you're very busy," said Mr. Bell, turning towards the door. "But, I will be coming back next month, Thornton. I hate this as much as you do… but, business is business," he added before walking out.

As soon as he closed the door, Thornton let his fists fall hard on his desk, making everything on it tremble. The vision of Margaret laughing by Henry's side was like baiting an enraged bull with a red mantle. But he had to keep it together, they had just gone to the theater… it meant nothing… He would come back to see her as soon as he was able, and then everything would be clear. He tried hard to bring his attention back to work.

Mr. Bell walked leisurely towards the hotel room he had reserved for his night in Milton. There was a finely ornate common room with a fire burning in the chimney. Mr. Bell approached the flames and took off his gloves, allowing his hands to absorb some of its warmth.

He remembered Thornton's request, and he took out the letter from his breast pocket. He stared at the envelope for a few seconds… Thornton's state had been deplorable, and this only was a confirmation that he was not a suitable match for Margaret. His eyes hardened with purpose and in one swift motion, he threw the piece of paper into the flames.

* * *

The following evening, Mr. Bell kept his promise and arrived just in time to have dinner with Margaret and the rest of her family. When they all sat at the table, Margaret chose the seat beside his; she wanted to be near him to ask him about Thornton discreetly.

"How was the play?" asked Mr. Bell, initiating the table's conversation.

Edith was happy to explain the whole plot. Margaret couldn't chime in, since she hadn't paid any attention to the show. Once the lights dimmed, she had been lost to the daydreams that had become so recurrent. When the play ended, they had all eagerly discussed their favorite characters and scenes, but Margaret could do nothing but stay silent.

"Did you enjoy it, Margaret? You seem very quiet" noted Mr. Bell, looking her way.

"I'm afraid Margaret doesn't care for the theater," Henry said.

"Oh, no… I do enjoy it very much," she argued.

"You were so taciturn after," he insisted.

"That play wasn't particularly interesting," she said, regretting her words as soon as she had spoken them. "I meant no offense, of course, Henry," she added immediately.

"Don't worry," he said with a reassuring smile. On the inside, though, he felt disappointed at having failed to entertain her.

Margaret was thankful when the conversation shifted towards another topic, and she took advantage of their distraction to lean in towards Mr. Bell.

"How was your trip to Milton?" she asked.

"Very well, my dear," he responded vaguely. "It was very tiring—coming and going on the train—but I've grown accustomed to it," he added, avoiding the subject of Thornton deliberately.

"I'm happy to hear it," she said. When she realized he would say nothing more, she continued, "did you deliver my message?" she asked, lowering her voice.

"What message?" he pretended to be oblivious to it at first, as he focused on pouring vinegar on his salad. "Oh, that message! Yes, yes, of course, I did."

"And?" she asked, after she was met with more silence.

"Well, I conveyed your message and that was that," he said straightforwardly.

"Oh…" she found it strange. "Did he not say anything?" she asked.

Mr. Bell looked into her eyes; the innocence he saw in them made him feel guilty about having burnt Thornton's letter. The short-lived remorse was gone in the split of a second.

"I'm afraid not, my dear. We mostly talked about business," he explained, taking a piece of lettuce into his mouth.

Margaret's appetite vanished. Could he have changed his mind about their situation? She started feeling nervous and impatient.

"Did he mention anything about his upcoming trip to London?" she asked, intending for that to be her last question on the subject—she was making herself look desperate.

"Not that I recall," he lied. "But if he promised you he would be here next week, surely he will be," he said with a condescending smile.

Margaret wasn't reassured by this, but what else could she do but wait?

"Will you be attending Lord Davenport's annual ball?" asked Mr. Bell, changing the subject and addressing the whole table.

"Of course!" answered Edith. "I bought a dress specifically for it a month ago!"

Margaret remembered having attended the ball once, when she was younger—Aunt Shaw had made a big deal out of it. In her defense, it _was_ a big deal. Only the most renowned families in London were invited, they said that the orchestra and the caterers were the same who served at Buckingham Palace. All of the ladies wore their most expensive gowns, and used this opportunity to meet and dance with eligible bachelors.

"Oh, I had completely forgotten," said Henry. "When is it?"

"In nineteen days!" said Edith excitedly.

"Well, someone has been counting down the hours," commented Maxwell, making everyone laugh.

"Margaret! Since you'll be accompanying us, we must go to the tailor's tomorrow to get you a new dress," said Aunt Shaw. "I'm sure if we pay a little more, they can finish it on time."

"I don't think that's necessary," said Margaret. She was sure that, by then, Thornton would already have taken her back to Milton.

"Nonsense! If it's because of the expense, you know very well I shall take care of it," she insisted.

"Oh, no… I beg you. If I were to attend, I have that gown I used for Edith and Maxwell's wedding. I'm sure it will do just fine," she said.

"If you _were_ to attend?" asked Aunt Shaw. "Do you have a previous engagement that we should be aware of?"

"Oh, no, not at all, I just meant-"

"As for the dress," Aunt Shaw interrupted, "many of the guests that will attend Davenport's ball went to Edith's wedding—they saw you in it. We don't want them thinking any less of our family. Tomorrow we'll be heading to the tailor's," she said, leaving no room for discussion.

Margaret was sure she wasn't that important to London society—nobody would notice if she wore the dress twice, but she was smart enough to know arguing with her aunt would lead nowhere.

They continued talking, wondering about how spectacular the ball would be, but Margaret couldn't care any less; there was no doubt that it would be an entertaining evening, however she would choose an ordinary night by Thornton's side—or rather an uninhibited night in his arms—over a grand ball any day. She wanted nothing more than for next week to arrive; the excitement and impatience made her feel like when she had waited for Christmas as a child.

"Look at Margaret's smile!" noted Edith.

Margaret stopped smiling immediately. She hadn't even realized she was doing it.

"Try as you might, you can't hide your excitement for the ball!" she accused.

Margaret smiled again, thinking that it was better to play along.

"You found me out, Edith," she lied.

"I knew it! We'll have the best time, you'll see," she said. "And you know, Henry is a remarkable dancer," she added cheekily.

"Edith, please!" said Henry, blushing.

"As your brother, I must confirm that this is true," said Maxwell, partially intending to flatter him before Margaret's eyes, and partially wanting to make him feel even more embarrassed.

The conversation continued merrily for another hour. When the clock struck 10, Mr. Bell politely stood up, thanked them and retired; promising to pay a visit when he came back to London.

Once in bed, Margaret closed her eyes. For the first time, her dreams of Thornton weren't all painful; they had a tinge of sweetness to them. She smiled, breathing deeply—they would soon meet again.

The following day, Aunt Shaw dragged Margaret to the tailor's. They took her measurements and showed them various pictures of dress cuts and pieces of fabric that could be used. Margaret's role consisted of absentmindedly agreeing with her aunt's opinion—naturally, as she was the one covering the expense.

"We have no time, so we will skip the flowers, ribbons and lace," Aunt Shaw said to the old man. "But, the fabric of the dress must be the very best in order to make up for it."

"Very well," said the tailor, heading to the back. "I just received this burgundy silk from Paris—it's not even in the sample book yet."

He rolled the fabric, extending a couple of meters on the table. Aunt Shaw gasped in wonderment. The soft, deep red waves even caught Margaret's eye, and she had been completely disengaged from the whole process. It was a very beautiful fabric indeed.

"Oh, this is perfect! Now I almost feel sorry that my daughter already has a dress," joked Aunt Shaw. "Henry will be rendered speechless!"

"Isn't the color a little… bold?" she asked swallowing nervously.

"Just bold enough," said the tailor with a smile. "This color is the most sought after by the French upper classes this season."

"We must have it!" exclaimed Aunt Shaw.

"Since you're one of my most faithful clients, Mrs. Shaw, you can be sure that the dress will be finished by next week!"

They came back home, and Aunt Shaw was still excited, imagining how the dress would turn out. Margaret didn't care much for fashion, but she could tell that people in London were more concerned with it than in Helstone or Milton. Nevertheless, she was sure the dress would turn out beautifully, so much so that she almost felt sorry that she wouldn't get to wear it.

* * *

The days seemed to drag on longer than usual. They all followed the same pattern: breakfast, playtime with Sholto, reading and gossiping with Edith and Aunt Shaw, lunchtime, a visit from Henry, dinner, getting to bed… tossing and turning sleeplessly over imaginary encounters with Thornton, and waking up only to go through it all over again.

When Friday finally came, Margaret was very agitated. She waited for a note announcing his visit all morning, but it never came. Maybe he was planning on calling unannounced? After lunch, she remained in the sitting room with Edith, her aunt and Sholto, as usual; they were having a conversation, but she was only listening half-heartedly.

"You should have seen it, Edith. The most beautiful color!" exclaimed Aunt Shaw.

"Oh, mother! You haven't stopped talking about it since you left the tailor's," she said with Sholto sleeping against her chest.

"Well, it is! But you shouldn't be jealous since you're already married. It's Margaret who needs to make an impression!" she said with a playful chuckle.

When Margaret remained serious, Edith knew that her cousin's attention was elsewhere.

"Margaret?" she called.

Margaret blinked, and turned to her.

"Are you well? You seem so far away," she observed.

"Please, forgive me," she apologized, knowing very well that she wasn't herself. "I was thinking of something else. What were you saying?"

"Well, I don't blame you. Mama was just talking about the dress… again," she explained, visibly tired of the subject.

"You won't understand until you actually see the color, Edith," she said, justifying her eagerness.

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation, and Margaret involuntarily stood up; her eyes attentive on the door. Edith and her mother exchanged puzzled looks. The maid entered the sitting room to announce the visitor.

"It's Mr. Henry Lennox," she said.

Margaret sat back down with a sigh. When had she stood up anyway? She needed to be more inconspicuous.

"Show him in," said Aunt Shaw.

The maid nodded and retired.

"Were you expecting someone?" asked Edith with curiosity.

Fortunately, Henry entered the room before she could answer the question.

"Good evening, ladies," he said, bowing.

"Henry, it's so good to see you," greeted Edith. "Please, join us. Maxwell will be here anytime now."

The rest of the day went on as it usually did. Maxwell arrived a few minutes later and they all talked. Afterwards, they dined together and Henry left once they finished. There was no sign of Thornton. When Margaret retired for bed, she convinced herself that he was planning to show up during the weekend.

By Sunday night, Margaret's certainty turned to doubt. Maybe he had changed his mind, or maybe he had never really intended to come back for her… Even considering that possibility broke her heart. She cried herself to sleep that night, and when there was no news on Monday, she did so again.

On Tuesday, she told Dixon she had a terrible headache, and that the pain wouldn't allow her to get out of bed. She stayed in her room the whole day and the curtains remained drawn. That night, Dixon came to bring dinner and check on her…

"Miss Margaret, are you feeling better?" she asked, approaching the bed.

"I'm not hungry, Dixon," she said, turning to the other side.

"You didn't have anything for breakfast or lunch—you need to eat!" she exclaimed with authority.

Dixon's demeanor softened when Margaret didn't respond. She left the tray on the nightstand and sat on the mattress beside her, facing her back.

"I know why you've been like this," she said gently.

Margaret turned to face her when she heard this. How could Dixon know anything about what had happened?

"It's been two months since the master passed," she said.

Margaret's eyes avoided hers; she had also thought about that… it only made her feel worse.

"Losing a parent can be very hard. I lost mine when I was very young," she said. "But you must always treasure the happy times," she added reassuringly.

Margaret smiled at her, trying to make her believe she had accomplished her goal.

"Don't worry too much, Dixon. I will feel much better in the morning."

"Very well," said Dixon, patting her lightly on her upper arm. "I'll leave the tray here, in case you get hungry."

"Thank you. See you in the morning," she said with a kind smile.

"Good night," she said before exiting her room.

* * *

The rest of the week, she tried hard to pretend there was nothing wrong with her. Those around her would ask if she was fine, and she would smile and say yes with as much confidence as she could muster. She must have been convincing, since after a while they stopped asking. When she was alone though, her emotions made themselves acutely known.

By Friday night, she had no more tears to shed, she had become angry instead. She hated that she was still hoping for a letter, or just to see him coming through the door… like he had done without warning at Marlborough Mills, pushing her up against the wall… she hated that her skin still tingled with anticipation at the memory. No. She had to keep those alluring thoughts at bay. He hadn't kept his word nor bothered to provide an explanation; this could only mean he wouldn't show up at all.

She cursed Fred's ghost stories, she cursed the sleepwalking maid, she cursed the noisy floorboards, and, above all, she cursed the night that she had mistakenly gotten into his bed! Not seeing him again would have been easier to bear if he had never laid a finger on her.

She was frustrated at her own body's inability to keep up with her brain; it still didn't understand that it was supposed to be repulsed by the very idea of him. A part of her feared that the damage could be permanent—how could she ever allow, let alone desire, another man's touch? Thornton had sentenced her to a dire future indeed.

What could she do about it? Writing to him asking for reasons would not only be improper, but also humiliating. She had already felt embarrassingly dependent when she had conveyed her message through Mr. Bell, and he hadn't even bothered to send a message back! No, she wouldn't debase herself like that again. The only thing she could do was go on with her life in the hopes that one day he would be nothing but a distant memory.

She tossed and turned in her bed, and when she found herself staring into his blue eyes, she knew she had fallen asleep. She gave into the vision, and enjoyed the fleeting bliss of his body pressing hers down and of his lips on her skin. The next morning, she woke up feeling empty; no dream could ever measure up to what being with him really felt like.

Later in the day, Margaret accompanied her aunt to the tailor's—a note had arrived that morning, saying that the dress had been finished. Once there, she tried it on so they could be sure all the measurements had been right. It fit her perfectly.

Margaret wasn't a particularly vain person, but she did find herself transfixed by her own reflection for a brief moment. Her shoulders, arms and cleavage were beautifully displayed. Although it was quite a simple cut, the color complimented her skin tone and brightened her natural blush and the pinkness of her lips. The crimson hues were on the edge of what was socially acceptable—Aunt Shaw could be prudish in many respects, but fashion had never been one of them.

As she admired her figure, she reckoned that at least staying in London meant she could wear such a beautiful garment.

Aunt Shaw praised the tailor's work, paid him and asked for help so they could load it into their carriage.

* * *

Margaret was indifferent to the calendar, but due to Edith's constant reminders, she was very aware of how close the day of the party was getting. On the morning of the ball, her cousin was in a very good mood, speaking excitedly with a chirped tone. After lunchtime, she forced Margaret into her room and sat her down before the mirror. Edith tried all sorts of hairstyles on her, following guidance from a fashion magazine.

"I'm sure Henry will love this one," she said admiring her latest tryout.

"Please, Edith. It makes me very uncomfortable when you speak like that," Margaret said, looking at her through the mirror.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Margaret," she apologized, realizing she was being serious. "I have been so overbearing concerning this topic… I mean, you know I would love for you two to get together, but I should consider your feelings," she said embarrassed. "I forget uncle's passing was just a couple of months ago…"

"Thank you for understanding," she said, smiling kindly. "I do think this style will do for tonight," she said, lightening up the conversation and bringing her eyes back to her own reflection. "Do you want me to try some on you?"

Edith nodded excitedly and they switched places. After a couple of tries, and once her cousin was happy with the result, she left to her own room so they could get dressed.

Dixon had to come and help Margaret put her gown on, taking care to not mess up the curls that had been intentionally let loose. Dixon gasped when she took a step back to admire her.

"Miss Margaret, you look breathtaking," she said; her smile couldn't possibly be any wider. "If only the masters were here to see you."

"You exaggerate," she accused bashfully.

When she turned around to look at herself, she was pleasantly surprised, but she said nothing to betray that moment of vain self-indulgence. When she came down to meet Edith and Aunt Shaw, their mouths fell open.

"Oh, mother, you were right!" said Edith, admiring her cousin.

"I told you so! And don't you worry," she said turning back to Margaret. "If Henry is not to your liking, there will be plenty of other gentlemen lining up for you to choose from."

"Mother, Henry is perfectly fine!" chastised Edith.

Aunt Shaw shrugged and Margaret couldn't help but chuckle at their quarrel.

"I'll be happy to just spend time with you. You both also look lovely," she complimented.

Edith had chosen a baby blue dress with white lace, while her mother was wearing a green one with huge bows adorning the bodice.

Their conversation was interrupted when Maxwell and Henry entered the room announcing the arrival of the carriage.

Henry eyed Margaret up and down slowly, making sure she became aware of his perusal. She could tell there was lust in his eyes, and that made her feel very uneasy.

"You look beautiful," he said. "You all do," he added.

His remark was echoed by Maxwell, and the ladies thanked them politely. When they got into the carriage, Margaret was glad to see there was no sufficient space, and that Henry had to sit beside the coachman.

Once their party arrived to Davenport's estate, they were welcomed by Lord and Lady Davenport themselves. As they made their way inside to take their places in some of the chairs surrounding the ballroom, Margaret admired the wide space. There were tall arched windows and double doors leading to a spacious terrace. It was her second time there, and yet she couldn't help but stare in wonder at the opulent ornamentation and the huge chandelier that hung from the ceiling.

"Margaret, everyone is looking at you," said Edith in a low voice as they made their way across the room.

Margaret looked to the people around her and realized Edith had spoken the truth. She swallowed nervously, not knowing what to do with that information. She felt a little anxious for wearing such an eye-catching color, everyone else had chosen pastels. Nothing could be done about it now; she just needed to distract herself from those thoughts.

As soon as she sat down, at least three gentlemen seemed to start heading her way. Noticing this, Henry immediately blocked their path by standing right in front of her.

"Margaret, would you please do me the honor of granting me the first dance?" he asked.

She was a little taken aback by his quickness and uncomfortable when she caught him stealing a glance down her cleavage, but refusing at these events was rude. "Y-yes," she answered reluctantly.

The other gentlemen reached them, and were introduced by her Aunt Shaw—she practically knew everyone there. Margaret dutifully promised her second, third and fourth sets to these gentlemen. She made polite small talk with all of them, and tried not to be distracted by Henry's jealous glare.

When the orchestra was about to play the first set, Margaret and Henry made their way through the crowd to find a spot in the ballroom. This one didn't require a lot of touching, and she was thankful for it. There was something about him tonight that was making her feel anxious.

The second set was a little boring; her partner was very quiet and didn't know the steps. The third got better, the gentleman, although shorter than her, was a decent dancer, and managed to carry on a conversation throughout the dance.

The fourth set was her favorite, her partner was handsome and amicable and they danced to an upbeat polka. She couldn't help but laugh out loud when he lifted her up and set her back down on the floor—Henry wouldn't like that reaction at all.

When the music stopped, she excused herself and approached a refreshments table that had been set against the wall. She was exhausted. She grabbed a glass of water and forced herself not to swallow it all in one gulp for the sake of propriety. As she took ladylike sips, she sensed someone approach from behind her. She brushed it off—just another thirsty guest.

"You do not waste your time, do you, Miss Hale?" a very familiar voice whispered near her ear—possessiveness darkening its tone.

Her hand tightened around her glass and she shivered; she didn't need to turn around to know the voice's owner.

* * *

AN. Thank you for your comments! Hope you enjoyed this chapter and wish you all happy holidays!


	5. Chapter 5

For Thornton, every day away from Margaret had been harder than anticipated, and this only worsened after hearing what Mr. Bell had to say. The image of Henry and Margaret would come to his mind often, making him lose focus. What if it was too late when he came back to London?

He had been practically living in his office as a recluse, hardly even seeing his own mother, but all that work didn't seem to be enough to change the direction the mill seemed adamant in taking—which was down.

He had written letters asking for investments to everyone he knew, and had grown accustomed to reading a string of refusals with his morning coffee.

Around a week after Mr. Bell's visit, he received a letter he was particularly hopeful about—one from his father's childhood friend, Lord James Davenport. He opened it impatiently, and his eyes devoured every line:

 _Dear John,_

 _I am happy to hear from you, although saddened by the circumstances. I am also somewhat offended that you have not written to me sooner. You know I cared for your father dearly and I know he would be very displeased if I were to turn my back on his beloved son ._

 _I would prefer to meet in person, so we can discuss with more clarity what we can do to pull Marlborough Mills out from this unfortunate situation. Of course, this also gives me the perfect excuse to see you. How long has it been? At least 6 or 7 years! An unforgivable amount of time._

 _I have encolsed an invitation to our annual ball, I think this is the perfect occasion for us to talk. London will also be a welcome distraction for you—as I am sure these past days have been stressful._

 _Please send my kindest regards to your mother and sister. See you soon._

 _James Davenport._

Thornton leaned back against his chair and sighed in relief; surely something good would come out of this. With renewed confidence, he decided such news earned him some respite. He went back into the house, his mother—who was sitting on the couch—immediately stood up at the sight of him; her wrinkles deepened with worry.

"John, what is it?" she asked. She was now unused to seeing him in the house.

"Good news, mother," he answered simply, too exhausted to explain anything else. "I will tell you everything at dinner. I need to rest for a bit. Could you tell Anna to wake me up in an hour?" he asked, suppresing a yawn.

"Of course," she said.

Thornton walked towards the staircase and made his way up to his room almost dragging his feet.

Mrs. Thornton sat back down with a sigh. She hadn't failed to notice that her son hadn't slept nor eaten properly for weeks, and seeing him in this deplorable state was affecting her too. She would say nothing to Anna, if he became upset she would take the blame, but he needed to rest—the mill was a priority, but that stopped the instant his health became compromised.

Thornton entered his room and let his body fall onto the mattress, he was out cold the instant his head touched the pillow. When he woke, he felt disoriented; his room was dark. What time was it? Suddenly, his confusion turned to alarm—how long had he been sleeping? He exited his room and hurried downstairs to get an explanation.

Mrs. Thornton spotted him from the sitting room, and she closed the book she had been reading as he approached her.

"Oh, you're awake," she commented calmly.

"Well, not thanks to Anna. Where is she? Why didn't she wake me?" he asked in exasperation. "I had to be back to work…" he paused to look at his pocket watch, "ten hours ago!" he exclaimed in surprise.

"Don't take it out on Anna. I didn't tell her to wake you," she explained seriously. "John, you have been overlooking your health most irresponsibly."

"I won't fight with you, mother," he said after taking a deep breath. "But, you know the mill is in serious trouble, and it requires my attention more than ever."

"Yes, John… but I have seen how business and money can extinguish a life," she said, alluding to what had happened to her late husband. "The mill is not more important than you."

Thornton looked down, understanding his mother's reference. Anna came into the room, interrupting their conversation.

"Oh, Anna! I was about to call you," said Mrs. Thornton, "Could you please prepare a bath for my son?"

Anna nodded, and left the room.

"Take care of yourself, John. I couldn't bear to lose you, too," she said standing up and caressing his cheek lovingly.

"Very well, mother," he said obediently, feeling guilty at having upset her.

"I am still looking forward to your news," she said. "Wash yourself and let us talk it over dinner."

Thornton nodded and headed back to his room—the bathtub was already prepared. As he undressed he looked at himself in the mirror and didn't recognize the reflection; he realized why his mother had been so concerned. He bathed, shaved and changed into fresh clothes; when he came back down, he was feeling like a new man.

His mother smiled when he saw him coming into the dining room—she was already in her seat.

"My son has decided to come back!" she exclaimed, making him chuckle softly.

"I admit that it appeared I had been living in the jungle," he jested, taking his seat.

Anna came into the dining room immediately after to serve supper. They both thanked her and she retired.

"So about these news you have…" began Mrs. Thornton.

"Well, there is nothing certain," he said, not wanting to give her any false hopes. "It will all be clearer in two weeks time—I need to go to London first."

"London?" Mrs. Thornton's thoughts immediately turned to Margaret.

"Yes, Lord Davenport—do you remember him? Father's friend—has expressed some interest in the mill's affairs," he said, cutting the chicken fillet on his plate.

"Of course I remember," she said, although she didn't find that answer completely satisfying. "Is that all?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Should there be more?" he asked in return, a little amused.

"No, I suppose there should not," she said, realizing her son wasn't planning on sharing anything concerning Miss Hale.

Mrs. Thornton's suspicions had only increased after Margaret's departure; all of the past events bothered her… their strange behavior during their final day together, the noises she had heard in the middle of the night—which had sounded nothing like Anna's sleepwalking—, the markings in Margaret's neck and in her son's face, and the final and most damning piece of the puzzle— the coachman's account; just a couple of days after Margaret left, he had come to her, talking about how Thornton had asked for them to give another turn even after reaching the house.

"What are you thinking, mother?" he asked, noticing her expression.

"Nothing," she lied, thinking that it was best to keep these suspicions to herself—at least for now. "So, you think Lord Davenport is willing to invest?" she asked, changing the subject.

"That is indeed my hope," he admitted. "Although I have to be prepared for the worst."

"Of course," she agreed. "How long will you be away?"

"A night," he replied, not feeling comfortable with the idea of leaving the mill unattended. "I still have a little over a week to settle the most pressing affairs prior to my departure, but I must ask you to keep an eye on things while I'm gone. I dare say if there's anyone who knows this mill better than myself, it's you."

"You can count on me," she said, touched by her son's trust.

They finished their meal and talked about other subjects. Apparently Fanny had fallen and broken her wrist a couple of days ago—where had he been? Lost to everything around him, save for thoughts of the mill and of Margaret… he felt very guilty. He needed to establish a healthier balance in his life.

When they retired from the dining room, Mrs. Thornton noticed that his son was heading towards the main entrance.

"Where are you going?" she asked from the bottom of the staircase, reproach was clear in her tone.

"To the office," he said, looking back at her; his hand already on the handle.

"John, please," she begged. "Whatever it is, it will still be there in the morning."

After seeing the genuine concern in her eyes and assessing all they had talked about, he decided that it was better to go back to bed. He had slept throughout the afternoon, but he was still feeling tired. His extended nap hadn't been enough to make up for all the sleep hours he had skipped.

"Just for today," he conceded as his hand fell away from the door's handle.

They both went up the stairs and bid each other good night as they went into their rooms.

Thornton changed into the oriental breeches he wore to sleep and got under the sheets. He allowed himself to enjoy the feel of the soft mattress against his body. His back was particularly thankful for the attention after having been bent over a desk for days on end.

As he closed his eyes, he thought of Margaret. Was she thinking of him? Or—as Mr. Bell had implied—was her heart already taken by Henry?

Should he pay her a visit while in London? He missed her terribly. But he had promised himself he would seek her out until the mill's problems were resolved, and his situation was no better than it had been when she left—the sight of her might only weaken his resolve.

The best course of action would be to attend Lord Davenport's ball, convince him to invest, save the mill, and then come back for her in the hopes her feelings had remained unchanged. His willpower needed to be stronger than ever. Thinking of the feel of her hungry lips against his made this decision torturous. How could he voluntarily deny himself the opportunity of her closeness while in the same city?

Throughout the past month, he had been constantly assaulted by the recollection of his encounters with Margaret—particularly the second one. He couldn't shake away the vision of her face as he brought her to ecstasy; the image never failed to arouse him. He wasn't proud when forced to address the needs that the memory of her writhing body provoked, but, at the very least, doing so temporarily succeeded in keeping his mind focused on work.

When he finally drifted off to sleep, he found her there, already waiting for him.

* * *

Throughout the following days, he managed to set up a healthier routine. He still worked more than average, but he forced himself to adhere to a schedule which permitted him to eat properly and sleep sufficiently—he even made time to visit his sister. He was also more careful with his appearance; after all, showing up at Lord Davenport's ball looking like the caveman he had seemed prior to his mother's intervention could only hinder his chances of getting any assistance. All in all, this change didn't make his job any easier, but it certainly made it more manageable.

By the morning he was set to depart, he had addressed the mill's most urgent matters and had left his mother and overseer with very specific instructions of what needed to be done during his absence. He sincerely trusted his mother's judgement, so in that regard he was at ease when he boarded the early train to London. What worried him now—and the only thing that kept the temptation of visiting Margaret away—was the impending meeting with Lord Davenport.

When he got to the hotel, there was a lot of people roaming about the reception expectantly; they had probably been turned away. Thornton hoped that his reservation request had been received on time. He made his way to the old man behind the reception desk. They politely greeted each other and Thornton provided his name when asked.

"Mr. John Thornton… Thornton… Thornton… Ah! Here you are!" said the receptionist as he browsed the list of reservations; his eyes narrowed behind tiny spectacles. "We received a message requesting a room for one night… You're fortunate, sir, for we just had a cancellation that made this possible. Every hotel in London is fully booked with months in advance—we welcome so many tourists during this season!" he explained as he wrote down some details in the record book.

Thornton nodded as the old man chattered away, but he did find his remarks out of the ordinary—fortune hardly ever played a role in these matters, especially when there were so many others waiting for a room to vacate.

"But we want to ensure the comfort of Lord Davenport's special guest," he added, as he handed him a key. "Room 5, sir—up the stairs, second door to the right. A coach will be waiting for you at six."

Suddenly Thornton understood what had happened, and it made more sense; Lord Davenport had intervened so he could have prioritary treatment… it made him a bit uncomfortable. He put that feeling aside, knowing that the mill was the only thing he should be thinking about. He thanked the receptionist and made his way up.

He had brought a small suitcase with him, just enough to fit in some undergarments, a fresh shirt, his formal attire and sleepwear. As the evening approached, he changed into his elegant suit. He showed up at the hotel's door a few minutes before six; the coachman was already waiting for him.

It didn't take long for them to reach Lord Davenport's estate, but once they were there, they had to get in queu—the coaches in front of them had to drop off their occupants by the entrance. Slowly, they made their way forward. Thornton stared at the ladies in huge dresses struggling to make their way down their carriages in exasperation. He took a deep breath to calm down… he was just five coaches away from the entrance now.

Thornton forgot about his impatience when he caught a glimpse of a woman in red getting out of her coach. He had never seen a lady wearing red at one of these events, wasn't that frowned upon? Fanny would be better informed… Was it red though? He leaned into the window to get a better look… He couldn't see her face clearly, but he could tell she had dark hair and a lovely figure. But, such a bold look at a place like this? The vixen could only have but one purpose: snatching a rich husband. He stared at her, hypnotized by the sway of her dress as she made her way through the door.

When she was gone, he chastised himself—what would Margaret think? It worried him that one of the possible answers was that she wouldn't care anymore; maybe she only wanted to be with Henry… He shook his head, trying to get rid of those painful thoughts; he needed to concentrate on the mill and nothing else.

He got off the coach with renewed resolve—tonight there would be no thoughts of Margaret, only of Marlborough Mills. He straightened his jacket, and walked towards the door, he was greeted by Lord and Lady Davenport.

"John!" he said, extending his arms to embrace him. "I am so happy you could make it!"

"I must thank you for responding to my letter," said Thornton. "And for securing my accommodation as well."

"Oh, it was nothing!" he exclaimed. "Darling, could you take care of greeting our remaining guests?" he asked his wife, but not really waiting for her to respond. "Let us move to the smoking room and talk there," he instructed Thornton.

They made their way across the ballroom until they reached the smoking room. On the way, Thornton saw a flash of the lady in red, but her face was covered by the group of gentlemen surrounding her.

"How fortunate! It's empty," he remarked, closing the door behind them. "Pray sit down and tell me all about it," he demanded as he brought out his pipe and lit it.

Thornton did as he was asked and tried to summarize what had happened with the mill during the last couple of months—the riots, the delayed payments and shipments, and the loans from the bank. When he finished there was a brief silence, only interrupted by the sound of Lord Davenport smoking his pipe.

"I see," he said finally. "I can help you," he concluded, looking him straight in the eye. Before Thornton could relax, he continued, "but partially. I can give you 50% of what you need, as long as there is another—or others—willing to cover for the other 50%. You see how this would soften any possible loss."

It made sense to Thornton, but he had already been rejected by every possible investor in England—who could be up for it?

"I'm grateful for your offer…" said Thornton thoughtfully.

"You look defeated, John—you mustn't" observed Lord Davenport. "I know you have approached others and that you've been unsuccessful, but you forget something very important—now you have me to back you up. Write to them again, and be sure to tell them Lord Davenport is in this. Surely, they will be more willing to participate, don't you think?" he asked with a confident smile.

"I shall do so," Thornton replied, hoping Lord Davenport's prediction was true, as there was no other possible road for him to take.

"In fact, there are some people I could introduce to you now who could be interested. Ah! And the music has begun to play," he remarked as the first notes filtrated through the door. "Come now, John. Did you know that this orchestra is a regular at Buckingham Palace?"

John stood up and followed Lord Davenport as he talked about the orchestra. They arrived to a set of chairs that had been reserved for the masters of the house in the ballroom. Lady Davenport was already there, and she seemed a little upset with her husband—there was no doubt that it had to do with the way he had treated her at the entrance, but he was oblivious to it.

"Look at all these young couples!" exclaimed Lord Davenport as he occupied his seat and asked Thornton to sit beside him. "For now you should ask one of these young ladies to dance. You will grow tired of us, old people," he remarked, earning himself a murderous glare from his wife that went unnoticed.

"I'm afraid I'm not fond of dancing," he said, not feeling any interest whatsoever in the activity.

"Well, you should watch instead—maybe you can learn something," he said as he browsed the dancing pairs. "Oh, look at that couple!" he said pointing to the front.

Thornton's eyes didn't follow his finger, he was not at all curious about what was there.

"I know him—what's his name?—he's one of the best dancers every year. My darling, do you remember?" he asked turning towards his wife, for the first time actually expecting for her to say something back.

"That is Mr. Henry Lennox, my dear, the lawyer," she explained in a biting tone.

"Yes, yes, yes, the lawyer!" he confirmed.

Thornton's head snapped up and his eyes searched for him. Who was he with? A couple of meters away, he found Henry was facing their direction. He was dancing with the lady in red, who had her back towards them. Thornton sighed in relief.

The relief was gone the instant she twirled. The face had been a blur, but it certainly looked like… no… it couldn't be. The dance ended and the woman was escorted to the other side of the room—her back always towards them.

"Excuse me," Thornton said, as he stood up and walked around the dance floor to get a better view.

He saw Henry jealously surrender his spot beside her to another gentleman. As he turned her around to head back towards the center of the room he became certain—the lady in red was Margaret. As his heart hammered against his chest, he remained still, staring hatefully towards them.

Just a while ago he had been chastising himself for merely finding another woman attractive (who, now it turned out, wasn't even another woman!), and she was dancing with other men with no sign of remorse. As that dance ended and a third one began with a shorter fellow, his teeth clenched; why would she dress in such a provocative fashion? Of course men would swarm around her, drawn like bees to honey. As he stood there helplessly, he wondered if he should make his presence known.

Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse, another gentleman took over for the fourth dance. Throughout the steps, the man picked her up by the waist and—to his complete shock—he heard her giggle. His blood boiled in response; his instincts commanded him to throw her over his shoulder and carry her back to his hotel room. Suddenly, the indecision of revealing himself was gone.

When the dance ended, he saw her make her way towards the refreshments table, and he followed from the periphery of the room. When she reached for a glass of water, he approached from behind. He admired her exposed skin from his vantage point, if only they were alone, he could sink his teeth into that tender spot where her neck met her shoulder. He inhaled her scent before whispering resentfully close to her ear.

"You do not waste your time, do you, Miss Hale?"

* * *

Margaret stayed in the same position, unwilling to face him.

"Mr. Thornton," she greeted, "I didn't know you would be here," she remarked, slightly turning her head in his direction.

"Evidently," he snapped.

His tone made his displeasure clear; but Margaret was more confused than before. How could he be in London and not have told her about it? How long had he been in the city without letting her know? These questions made her angry; there were only two possibilities, either he had a very fickle heart, or he had been insincere from the very beginning.

This realization offended her, and gave her the courage she needed. She placed her glass on the table forcefully and turned to face him. She was stricken by how handsome he looked, but she fought hard not to show anything but contempt in her expression.

Thornton was taken aback by the confrontation in her body language. His gaze couldn't help but wander. Her eyes had a fire in them, and the blush of her cheeks matched that devilish dress—how could she be this beautiful? Slowly, he lowered his eyes to appreciate the quickened rise and fall of her breasts.

When Margaret noticed his attention was on her cleavage, she could almost swear he was able to see through her clothes. She hated that her reaction wasn't one of aversion—as it had been when he had caught Henry doing the same thing—, but one of anticipation. She needed to put a stop to this.

"Have you looked your fill?" she asked defiantly, making his eyes dart back up.

"Forgive me. After all the flirtatious behavior I saw, I presumed this was the kind of attention you wanted," he said with jealousy.

Margaret's eyes widened in disbelief and Thornton immediately knew he had made a big mistake.

She swallowed the retort that was burning in her throat, trying hard to keep her temper in check to not make a scene.

"Excuse me," she said instead, and turned around to leave.

She made her way through the multitude towards one of the doors that led to the terrace, angry tears threatening to fall. She needed some space. How dare he speak to her in such an insulting manner after all she had suffered? When the cold night air met her face she felt relieved.

The terrace had giant pillars delimiting it, so she took advantage of this, and walked towards the furthermost column to hide behind it. She didn't want to explain her altered state to any other guest who happened to be wandering about. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the cold stone; she breathed deeply, trying to contain her emotions.

When she opened her eyes again, she jumped at the unexpected sight of Thornton—he had followed her, and was standing an arm's length away. There was a pained expression in his eyes.

"If your intent was to get lost in the crowd, you need a different dress," he observed.

"What more could you possibly have to say?" she asked, more comfortable in knowing that there were no witnesses. "Haven't you insulted me enough?"

"I should have not said those words," he said, taking a step closer.

She wanted to stay angry, but the look on his face and the tone of his voice soothed her against her will. Her heart raced as her whole body sensed his nearness. She needed to ask so many things, to clarify their current situation… His hands gently framed her face, and as he drew her face towards his, those loud concerns became distant and unintelligible echoes in the back of her mind. The only thing she needed was his kiss.

His thumb caressed her lower lip. When she closed her eyes in response, he knew her feelings hadn't changed. She was breathing heavily, her arms were to her sides, pressing back against the pillar. He had needed her so much. He kissed her with the ferocity of a carnivore that has scented fresh blood—one that had also been starved for more than a month—, and she responded in kind.

Their lips collided again and again, retracing the frantic dance they already knew. The feel of his tongue against hers sent an electric shock throughout her body that brought her to life. Her arms encircled his neck, pulling him closer, as his greedy hands grasped her by the waist.

"I have missed you," he whispered hoarsely between kisses, before moving lower to taste her neck.

She suppressed a whimper as her head fell back to grant him better access. She clutched him tighter when one of his hands cupped her breast, and he bent to bite the skin just above her bodice. She gasped.

"Margaret!" Henry's voice echoed through the terrace. "There you are!"

They both became very still. Margaret looked around with concern, but quickly realized Henry had only seen the edge of her dress from behind the column. She pushed Thornton away and walked around the pillar to reveal herself before he came any closer. Halfway, Thornton grabbed her by the wrist, forcing one of her arms to remain concealed.

"Henry, I was just getting some air," she said nervously.

"I have been looking for you everywhere," he commented. "You should come back inside. I would be honored to have another dance with you."

Margaret swallowed hard when she felt Thornton place his lips on her wrist.

"Oh, the first few dances have exhausted me," she said, her breaths betraying her excitement.

"You seem feverish," he said with concern, walking closer. "Maybe we should go, if you're not feeling well."

Margaret's free hand flew forward violently, commanding him to stop; he obeyed, confused by the motion.

"Henry, please. There's nothing to worry about. I just need to be alone," she said a little too quickly.

Henry's hurt expression confirmed how rude she had sounded.

"Forgive me. I will be inside in a minute," she said, trying to make up for her harsh words.

Henry nodded and headed back into the ballroom.

As soon as he was gone, Thornton pulled her back towards him, meaning to continue where they had left off. As his lips sought to recapture hers, Margaret kept the distance between them by pushing her hands against his chest.

"No," she said, placing her passion back on its leash.

This was a very dangerous place for a rendezvous. Furthermore, she couldn't allow herself to forget the fact that he had not kept his promise. She stepped away, not wanting his touch to distract her.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" he responded with another question, loathing the space between them.

"Why did you come to the ball?" she clarified. She only needed to hear that the reason was her.

"Business," he answered.

"Of course," Margaret smiled sadly and lowered her eyes. "So, you weren't expecting to see me."

His eyebrows furrowed as he noticed her change in mood. He stepped closer but she stepped back.

"Is this your idea of revenge?" she asked, looking back up at him.

"Revenge—what?" he asked in confusion. Her eyes made him feel as if he had somehow let her down.

"I caused you pain once, Mr. Thornton, and I regret it," she said, referring to the marriage proposal. "But, inflicting pain in return will achieve nothing."

"What a ridiculous suggestion! You can't possibly believe I have ever acted out of spite or on some absurd vendetta!" he exclaimed indignantly.

"I'm not a toy for you to play with when you're bored!" she exclaimed, talking over him.

"I can't claim to be an irreproachable gentleman. Not when you have seen me during my most uncivil moments—as I have seen you…"

She blushed at the reference to their escapades, hating herself for wanting him even now.

"…but, do you find me so despicable?" he asked.

"How else can I make sense of everything?" she asked. "You failed to keep your promise! I waited for you and you never showed!" she accused, rising her voice. "I don't want to see you again," she said bitterly before rushing back into the ballroom to find her family.

"Margaret!" he exclaimed, trying to stop her in vain.

Had she not received his letter? If that was the case, then whatever Mr. Bell had said now came into question—he knew the man didn't approve the match, but such deplorable behavior was completely unexpected and beneath him.

Thornton followed Margaret; he needed to settle this before the night was over.

* * *

"Oh, there you are, Margaret!" exclaimed Edith from her chair as she saw her cousin approach. "So many gentlemen have asked for you, where have you been?"

"I was just getting some air," she said.

"And who's the gentleman behind you?" asked Aunt Shaw.

Margaret turned to see Thornton was standing there. He had followed her again… why couldn't he just leave her be? She was forced to make introductions.

"Oh, this is Mr. John Thornton from Marlborough Mills. We ran into him at the exhibition—do you remember?" she explained with all the civility she could muster.

"Oh, yes, of course!" exclaimed Aunt Shaw.

"Good evening," he greeted.

"Good to see you again," said Maxwell with a smile, a reaction completely opposite to his brother's.

"He and his mother also hosted Margaret before coming to London, isn't that right?" Henry asked seriously.

"Yes, we had the pleasure," he said, feeling satisfied that this made his rival uncomfortable.

"We must thank you for all those attentions, Mr. Thornton. You were so kind to our Margaret," said Edith.

"You must allow us to invite you for dinner tomorrow," said Aunt Shaw.

"Aunt, he's a very busy gentleman," said Margaret, not wanting to spend another second in his company.

"Oh, quiet, Margaret! I'm sure he has time for one dinner," she insisted.

"I thank you for your invitation, but I have plans to depart tomorrow morning—hotels are crowded this time of year," he said.

"Hotels? Oh, dear Lord, no!" exclaimed Aunt Shaw. "You must stay with us. We are indebted to you, sir, and we shall show you equal hospitality. Now you have no excuse!" she said with a chuckle.

"Well in that case, I can't bring myself to refuse," he said with a smile.

He briefly exchanged looks with Margaret—she wasn't happy—but he needed to find a moment alone so they could make things clear.

"Excellent," said Aunt Shaw.

"John, there you are, come here!" Lord Davenport's voice could be heard from a few chairs away.

He was calling to him at the side of a very important looking gentleman—of course! He was supposed to be here to find investors for the mill, not for Margaret. He should postpone those concerns until tomorrow.

"I'm afraid I must go," said Thornton bowing. "But I will see you all tomorrow," he added before walking away.

"He's on first name terms with Lord Davenport!" exclaimed Aunt Shaw once he was out of hearing range.

"Oh, many gentlemen are on first name terms with him," said Henry, trying to downplay this fact.

"I think we should go, it's getting late," said Margaret, wanting to deal with all her conflicting emotions in the safety of her bedroom.

"I agree," said Edith. "I already feel guilty at having left poor Sholto with the maid for so long."

* * *

Thornton saw Margaret's group retire from the corner of his eye, but he fought hard to keep his attention on Lord Davenport's good friend. Apparently, this other gentleman had faced a similar difficulty and was feeling empathic. He was interested in covering another 25%, which was excellent news.

Shortly after the guests started to leave, he also headed back to his hotel room; but not before thanking Lord Davenport again for reaching out. He had given his mill a chance at surviving the crisis and made the search for the remaining potential investors much easier.

For the first time in months, when he closed his eyes, it was only Margaret—not the mill—giving him trouble sleeping.

* * *

Margaret closed and locked the door behind her, not wanting even Dixon coming in to help her take off her dress. She needed to be alone.

Her skin was too sensitive, it had a memory of its own—it burned wherever his lips had been and it burned worse where they hadn't.

She got out of her dress, and placed it carefully on the sofa that was in the corner of her room. While she undid her corset, she suppressed her wish for Thornton's assistance. She shook her head and sped up the process.

When she finally got to bed, the pangs of desire were still hitting her with persistence. She knew what she needed to release that tension, he had shown her…

She slowly pulled up her nightgown—she only needed to mimic his moves. When her hand reached her inner thigh, she froze. She couldn't give into such a humiliating act… And yet the struggle made her feel like a small boat in the middle of a raging sea. The memory of every lick and bite struck her with the force of a wave, threatening to capsize what little restraint she had.

She remembered how he had brought her to the peak of pleasure, and the hunger in his eyes as he witnessed it. She just needed to feel that once more… She pictured him over her, commanding her to look at him as he touched her. When her hand found that spot between her legs, there was no turning back. She buried her face in her pillow to drown her moans as she brought herself the release she had been craving for.

When she finished, her temporary satisfaction was soon replaced by feelings of embarrassment and remorse. How could she ever get rid of these uncontrollable yearnings? Her doubts hadn't been so terrible when she could blame him for her own actions, but he wasn't here to be used as a scapegoat now. How could she ever see herself as a respectable lady again?

She fell asleep trying to soothe her guilty conscience.

* * *

The following evening, Thornton showed up an hour before dinner. He was greeted enthusiastically by everyone, except for Margaret and Henry. One of the maids escorted him to the second floor to show him his room.

"All of the guest rooms are on this side," she pointed out, as they made their way through the corridor—it was a fairly large house.

"Do you receive many guests?" he asked.

"Not really," she said, "right now there's only Miss Margaret. But it's best this way so you both get to have rooms with windows facing the main street—they get better lighting, sir," she explained.

So Margaret's room would be near his… Thornton knew this information would be useful. The maid opened the room for him and excused herself, telling him dinner would be ready in a few minutes.

When he came back down they were all in the sitting room, waiting to be called into the dining room.

"Mr. Thornton, we're so happy that you're here, truly," said Aunt Shaw, "please have a seat."

"Thank you," he said as he took a spot in an empty armchair facing Margaret.

Margaret had avoided looking at him since he had arrived. Her attention was fixated on her lap, she was afraid that Thornton would somehow know what she had done the previous night.

"Mr. Thornton, maybe you can help us settle a debate about Milton," said Edith, initiating conversation.

"What kind of debate?" he asked with curiosity.

"We have some divided opinions about its charms. Isn't that right, Margaret?" Edith continued. Margaret barely smiled, acknowledging the mention of her name. "I've only heard visitors' accounts, so I would be interested in hearing the perspective from someone who was born there."

"May I ask about what you've heard?" he asked with a smile, having an idea of the general opinion.

"Fair enough, well, Margaret didn't have a lot of kind things to say," she began.

"Edith," Margaret interrupted. "I changed my mind after," she said bashfully, daring to rest her eyes on him briefly. "It took me a while," she confessed.

"Well, I must disagree… When I left I was still under its first impression," Henry interjected, "not a very favorable one, I'm afraid."

"It is an industrial town," said Thornton. "We're proud of our achievements in business and trade. We must make our own way up in Milton, things aren't handed out—but I can see how this rough environment could be unpleasant for people who are unfamiliar with hard work," he said.

Henry glared at him, and Margaret couldn't help but smile a little.

The maid came back inside to announce dinner and they all moved to the dining room. Thornton was quick to occupy a seat beside Margaret's. When they were all entertained commenting on the food, he turned to her discreetly.

"I must speak with you," he said in a low voice.

"Henry, could you please pass the bread?" she asked with a kind smile, ignoring Thornton's comment.

Thornton's jaw clenched. Henry, who was sitting right across from her, obliged. As she grabbed a bun from the basket and placed it on her plate, he insisted.

"It's important," he added, waiting for some response.

This time Henry noticed the interaction, and found it out of the ordinary. He couldn't hear, but the way he was looking at her unsettled him.

"Would you like some bread, Mr. Thornton?" she asked, ignoring him again.

"No, thank you," he said with disappointment.

If she didn't want to listen to him voluntarily, then he would have to find an opportunity to make her listen. Although painful, he would accept if her feelings had changed—but not if that change was based on a misunderstanding.

* * *

Margaret maintained the same invisible wall throughout the rest of the evening, even after dinner, when they came back to the sitting room. Thornton could only talk with her aunt and cousin, who were more enthusiastic about communicating.

A yawn from Aunt Shaw was the signal that it was time to retire. Henry left the house, but not before directing a menacing look towards Thornton—he hated that he would be spending the night under the same roof as Margaret.

The rest of the group headed upstairs and wished each other good night before separating. Aunt Shaw, Edith and her husband went to the rooms on the right, and Margaret and Thornton to the guest rooms on the left.

Thornton allowed Margaret to walk ahead, so that he could identify which room was hers. As she opened her door, she spared him one final glance before going inside without saying a word. Thornton continued walking ahead, knowing that there were still witnesses at the other end of the hall. He got into his room and decided to wait half an hour before making his move.

* * *

Margaret closed the door behind her, her head fell back against the door and she let out a breath. In spite of the previous night's efforts to quench her desire, it hadn't subsided. In fact, knowing that he was in one of the rooms close to hers made it even worse. She had been so nervous around him, thinking that maybe he would know what she had done—how foolish of her.

As she changed into her nightgown, she tried to ignore the wave of heat that seemed to have permanently taken hold of her whenever Thornton was near. She went towards the water bowl and splashed the cold liquid on her face, thinking maybe it would help cool her down. She dried the remaining droplets, and sat before the mirror to undo her hair. As she worked her way through the lengthy mane; her eyes got lost in her reflection, which was softened by the dim light coming from the oil lamp.

When she finished, she remained in the same position, staring blankly at herself. Her mind had been playing tantalizing images before her… him kissing and undressing her; their naked bodies writhing together, locked in a primal rite throughout which there was no language but that of touch, movement and shallow breaths. When she felt one of her hands make its way up her bare thigh, she squeezed her eyes shut, pulling herself out of the trance.

"No," she whispered tightening her hand in a fist. "It shall not happen again," she added, placing that hand on the vanity table.

How could she get rid of it all? She needed to be harder on him, remind herself how he had broken her heart—that should be enough.

When she opened her eyes, she wasn't alone in the mirror's reflection. She gasped, taken aback by this unexpected apparition. Thornton was right by the door, looking at her; his arms crossed. He was wearing his white shirt, which was loosened and partially unbuttoned. Was this a hallucination? She closed her eyes and opened them again… he was still there. She stood up and turned around violently—almost tripping—to face in his direction…

"What are you doing here?" she asked in alarm.

"I told you. We have something to discuss," he said calmly.

"How long have you been standing there?" she inquired cautiously after a brief silence.

"Not long," he answered. Margaret sighed in relief. "What shall not happen again?" he asked, making her tense up once more.

* * *

AN. Thank you again for all your observations and comments, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

"Get out," she commanded with fury.

Thornton placed his hand on the handle. A part of her felt a little disappointed that he had been so quick to obey… then she heard the turn of the lock. He approached her with that smug smile that she hated to love.

She immediately walked towards the other end of the room, so that the bed remained between them. What in the world did he intend?

"I will scream," she warned.

"Or you could sit down and listen to what I have to say," he said, extending his hand towards the couch in the corner of the room.

She eyed him suspiciously.

"I'm an honorable businessman, Miss Hale," he said, showing his palms, as if he were a criminal before the police. "I have questions, as I'm sure you do, too. This is nothing more than a transaction," he explained. "You want me to leave, the price for that is some of your time. You want an answer to one of your questions, the price for that is your answer to one of mine."

It sounded truthful enough, and she did have a lot of questions. Maybe she could give him an opportunity to explain himself. She nodded.

"Please, sit," he said, extending his hand towards the couch again.

She walked towards the couch, but hesitated before sitting.

"If everything shall be an exchange, then I want for you to be seated as well," she said pointing towards the vanity's armless chair. She disliked the idea of him prowling about the room—this way he would be less intimidating.

"You would make a fine businesswoman," he observed with a smile.

He grabbed the chair and placed it right across from the couch, so they would be sitting face to face.

"You don't have to move it so close," she said, fearing proximity could have other consequences.

"Do you want everyone in the house to hear us talk?" he asked.

He always had a sound motive for everything. She complained no more. Thornton placed himself before the chair and they both sat down at the same time, staring at each other.

"I dare say, so far we're very trustworthy business partners, wouldn't you agree?" he asked with a grin that was left unrequited.

Margaret wasn't comfortable with how close they were, their knees practically brushing.

Thornton took a moment to eye her up and down; she was wearing a different nightgown than the one he had seen her in before. This one's fabric was loose and slightly see-through, but it covered her up to her neck and wrists. He had been hoping to catch a glimpse of her bare skin.

"Begin," she urged, not knowing why he was taking so long.

"Of course," he said, bringing his attention back to the most important matter. "My first question—did Mr. Bell hand you a letter?"

"No," she answered with confusion in her eyes.

Thornton's jaw clenched and he cursed Mr. Bell inwardly. How could he have done something like this? Had he forgotten?

"A letter written by you?" she inquired.

"Yes," he said.

"What did it say?" she asked curiously.

"It's my turn," he reminded her. "Did you go to the theater with Henry Lennox?"

"Y-yes," she said with hesitation. "But Edith and Maxwell were also there."

The confirmation hurt him—he was hoping Mr. Bell had lied—but knowing that they hadn't attended alone was an improvement.

"What did the letter say?" she repeated her previous question.

"That I wouldn't be making it to London on the date we had agreed," he explained.

Margaret smiled—he had written to let her know! Some of the weight she had been carrying lifted off her shoulders.

"What is it?" he asked. Even though he didn't know the reason, he couldn't help but smile back at her.

"Nothing," she said, lowering her eyes and wringing her hands. "Only… it's good to know that you didn't forget about me."

Thornton was moved by her words, how could she ever think he would forget about her? That was impossible. He leaned in and caressed her cheek.

The sensation made her meet his eyes. Those blue hypnotizing eyes were there, getting closer. She could feel his breath against her face. How she had dreamed of being with him like this again… As if she had been put under a spell, she leaned in with heavy-lidded eyes.

"I have another request," she said breathily, interrupting his advance when his lips were just a millimeter away from hers.

He pulled back slightly, waiting for her to explain.

"You can't touch me," she stated with pain in her voice. "Please," she begged in a whisper. They needed to have this conversation.

Thornton gave one final glance to her luscious lips before reluctantly leaning on the chair's backrest and crossing his arms. Margaret was still tilting forward; it took her another second to straighten her back.

"That's an expensive request," he observed.

"Continue…" she said, waiting for him to name his price.

She felt his penetrating gaze trace her from head to toe.

"Five buttons," he stated.

"Excuse me?" she asked, not knowing what he was referring to.

He openly stared at her chest in response. She looked down to find the buttons on her nightgown, and blushed when she understood what he meant. When she looked back at him, she shivered—his face was slightly lowered; his eyes fixed on her like a hawk's.

It was an outrageous request, and yet she found it exhilarating. As long as he was with her, she could trick her conscience into thinking he was to blame for her own lust. The wave of heat that pulsed through her intensified and incited her to do as he bid. Her fingers traveled to the first button just below her neck.

"But you won't touch me," she reminded him, sounding teasing unintendedly.

He nodded and she unfastened one button after the other without breaking eye contact. She paused by the fourth button, which rested right between her breasts. She was deafened by the drumming of her heart—could he hear it? She bit her lip with nervousness.

Thornton grunted and placed his elbows on his thighs; he wanted to be the one biting that lip. How stupid had his request been? He had practically ordered the finest dish in the world while not able to savor it.

Margaret found more encouragement in his frustration—having the power to unsettle him was an aphrodisiac to her. She undid the fourth and fifth buttons; the fabric now opened to reveal the valley of her breasts and part of her midriff, barely covering her hardened nipples.

Thornton's body responded to the sight. He took his time admiring her, even though he knew he had to stand by their agreement—touching her was off the table.

Slowly, she pulled her hair behind her back so that it didn't obstruct his view. That unexpected move made Thornton tighten his fists—she wanted him to see her.

"There's a wicked side to you, Miss Hale," he whispered, narrowing his eyes.

"I believe it's my turn to ask a question," she said, ignoring his comment. "Why didn't you come to London when you promised?" she asked.

It was hard for Thornton to get his thoughts back in order…

"There were some… issues at Marlborough Mills," he answered, not wanting to go into specifics. "I came to see Lord Davenport to resolve them; things are looking up at present. I didn't want to come see you until those issues were taken care of."

His answer provided some comfort, not only because it explained why he hadn't come to see her earlier, but also because it made her happy to hear the mill was doing better. She also enjoyed his evident struggle to keep his eyes on her face.

"On to another subject… why did you wear that red dress to the ball?" he asked.

"It was burgundy," she corrected. "And I wore it because it is a beautiful dress."

"It did gain you plenty of attention from the gentlemen there," he pointed out.

"Are you implying I wore it to seduce a rich man?" she asked in amused bewilderment. "If that were of any concern to me, I would have married you the first time you asked," she said.

His jaw clenched—his pride was still sore from that day. Margaret noted she had hit a nerve and decided to use a mellower tone.

"If you were to see things differently, you would realize how wrong you are..." she said with more gentleness. "The men allowed to see me in a pretty dress are harmless," she explained. "Your only concern should be the one who's allowed to see me without it."

These words were bittersweet for Thornton; although they soothed his ego, they also inflamed his desire. His palms ached to trace the soft skin that was on display for him.

"I apologize for the accusation…" he said, "I should have paid no heed to Mr. Bell—he suggested your feelings had changed when he visited the mill," he explained.

"That's impossible," she said in disbelief.

"Why?" he asked.

"Well, I asked him to tell you that I was thinking of you," she explained. "Didn't he?"

"No…" he answered, not needing any further evidence to know this hadn't been an oversight.

"What? He even suggested you had said nothing in return!" she exclaimed, feeling relieved that Thornton hadn't actually broken her heart.

"No… It is clear Mr. Bell can't be trusted; I shall have a word with him… As for now, you owe me two questions," he said.

"Oh, the last one wasn't a question!" she clarified.

"A deal is a deal," he said with a mischievous smile that took her breath away.

"Very well," she conceded, wanting to kiss that smile off his lips. Clearing those details up had lightened the general mood of their interaction.

"When I came into the room you were speaking to yourself… what did you mean when you said 'it shall not happen again'?"

Her heart skipped a beat and her eyes widened.

"Nothing," she said, swallowing nervously.

"I see your lying skills haven't improved," he mocked.

"Well… I… I meant," she stammered. "Those… thoughts wouldn't go away…" she said avoiding his eyes. "I resisted it for so long; and then yesterday you made it worse—it was your fault!" she accused.

"You're not making sense," he said with a mocking grin.

"I-I…" she couldn't bring herself to confess, it was too embarrassing.

"I could exchange this question for a request, if you please," he offered.

"Yes!" she exclaimed eagerly.

Looking into her eyes, he leaned in and encircled his arms around her hips. With one strong pull, she lifted her from the couch. She gasped and held on to his arms, fearing she would lose her balance. He placed her so that she was sitting on top of him, straddling his hips, her nightgown riding up past her thighs.

"You can't touch me," she complained, despite her body's immediate acceptance of her newfound position.

"I haven't touched _you_ ," he clarified.

"You know very well that my clothes were also implied in our deal…" she panted.

"Nothing is ever implied in business. Such a specification was never disclosed," he said, appreciating her cleavage from this angle. "But you can choose to remain here, or answer my previous question," he proposed.

He stared at her, waiting for a response, but she said nothing.

"Very well, on to my second question," he said, moving his hands up and down her back.

Margaret couldn't hold back a contented sigh. He was so close… she thought he would forget about their agreement and kiss her. She closed her eyes, ready to surrender. She sensed his lips move near her ear, and she trembled.

"Did you think of me when you touched yourself?" he whispered, before pulling back to see her reaction.

She opened her eyes in mortification—he knew what she had done! Her eyes fidgeted across the room to avoid his.

He hid his amusement, and admired her flushed skin and the nervous flutter of her lashes. He wanted to kiss her badly.

"How-"

"You must answer first," he interrupted, kneading her rear.

"Y-yes," she confessed, taking in a breath.

"Had I been there to see it…" he said; his voice coming out as low as a growl.

The shameless remark made her eyes come back to meet his. It dawned on her that he didn't look disappointed, but—if it was even possible—hungrier for her. This shredded away some of her uneasiness.

"Did you?" she asked curiously.

"Of course," he said looking at her lips hungrily. "Sometimes, the only thing I can think about is being inside of you. How else would I remain sane?"

"I don't know…" she said flattered, smiling timidly. "But you did grant me another question," she added, feeling more comfortable in knowing she wasn't a particularly depraved person.

"It was rhetorical," he clarified.

"A deal is a deal," she said, mimicking his previous words.

"You're killing me," he muttered, making her giggle softly. "But that is what you want, I see—you shall dance on my grave like the witch you are," he said playfully, moving his hands to her waist.

"How awful of me!" she joked, tracing her hands down his chest—feeling more confident.

"I know exactly what you want," he said; her measured exploration stirring him. "Your body gives you away."

His hands traveled to her upper back, and his fists tightened around the fabric of her nightgown.

"You want be seen," he whispered as he pulled the fabric down past her shoulders; the back of his hands brushing her hair.

She straightened her back and relaxed her arms, silently telling him he had permission to continue.

"You want to be touched," he added, pulling until the nightgown fell to her elbows, revealing her breasts.

She gasped when she felt the air kiss her sensitive skin. His mouth watered at the vision before him.

"But I'm afraid we've reached an impasse," he said, devouring her with his eyes.

For Margaret, the eroticism of the moment was just as encouraging as the wine had been the last time. She couldn't remember any social or moral constraints—she only wanted to feel.

"Can't you tell?" she asked seriously, as she leaned in to brush his lips and her hands sneaked under his shirt. "I'm not playing your game anymore."

He didn't need to hear it twice; he went after her lips ardently. As they kissed, he helped her tug away his shirt—the speed was such that a couple of buttons broke loose. Once free of the garment, he crumpled it and threw it on the floor. His hands clasped her bare thighs voraciously.

Margaret disentangled herself from the nightgown's sleeves and proceeded to hold him tightly against her, molding her breasts to his chest. He groaned into her mouth as their skin came into direct contact—the fuse had been lit.

He grasped her hair and pulled, making her arch her back. He licked and bit his way down her neck and chest, stopping by her breasts to take one of her nipples into his mouth. She suppressed a moan.

When she felt one of his hands go up her inner thigh, she pushed him hard against the backrest, and made him meet her eyes.

"No," she panted, framing his face with her hands. "Let me…"

Her hands made their way down slowly, tracing every muscle. When she got to the top of his trousers, she waited for some sign of disapproval, but there were none. His breath quickened as she unbuttoned them; she could see no objection in his lustful gaze.

He hissed when her hand reached under his breeches.

"Teach me," she whispered.

"You don't have to," he muttered, making an effort not to thrust against her hand.

"I want to," she said, kissing his lips reassuringly. "Please."

His need for her urged him to concede. He covered her hand with his own to guide her through the motions. It didn't take her long to understand the rhythm, and she became enthralled by his response to every stroke. It thrilled her to know she could make him forget himself like this.

Although timid at first, each of her moves became surer and faster than the last, following his instruction. As the pleasure increased, he senselessly bit and kissed every part of her that came near his mouth: her ears, her jaw, her neck, her shoulders... He cursed under his breath, knowing that he wouldn't last long under her ministrations.

Driven entirely by instinct, he removed her hand and repositioned it on his shoulder. Before she could ask him why, he stood up—her legs immediately locked around him to keep her from falling. He walked towards the bed and threw her onto the mattress unceremoniously. He proceeded to tug at her nightgown until she was completely naked before him.

After getting rid of his trousers, he climbed upon the bed, and approached her on all fours—the muscles of his back moving like a predator's. He held her legs open and his face caressed her as he made his way up; she could feel his stubble scratching her calves and her knees. He stopped to place a bite on the inside of her thigh and her body twisted in response. He placed another bite above that one, and another… She didn't know where his destination was until she felt the flick of his tongue against her most sensitive area. She squirmed, but his arms kept her firmly secured in place.

He subjected her to relentless waves of pleasure and she fought to remain silent. When it became too much, a loud moan escaped her lips. The sound made him cut his attentions short—he was proud of having extracted such a reaction, but also mindful that they weren't alone in the house. He came up to meet her face.

"Quiet," he whispered, as his hand took over the work his mouth had been doing.

"Take me," she gasped completely out of her senses, disregarding his command.

He could feel she was ready for him and the temptation to do as she said was great.

"Not yet," he said, fighting the impulse. He needed to remind himself that consummating the act while unmarried could have consequences.

"Please," she begged; her desperation blatant. Although she was feeling good, her pleasure felt inexplicably hollow—something told her there could be more.

"Stop," he insisted. With his free hand, he held his thumb against her lips so she could no longer provoke him with her words.

He continued pleasuring her as she writhed frantically, and he couldn't help but grind against her in response. The closer they got to the edge, the wilder they became; she bit his thumb to keep herself from making a sound. With a ferocious look in his eyes, he adjusted his palm to hold her jaw and capture her lips roughly. As their climax neared, their kisses lost synchronization, until they were erratically breathing into one another.

He immediately knew when she finished. She pressed her lips together to silence the moan that betrayed her, and her body shuddered with uncontrollable spasms. Seeing her like that was enough to send him over the edge as well. He groaned as he finished, and collapsed beside her soon after.

She remained there, catching her breath; she needed to recover from the out of body experience… She was brought back to her senses by the feel of a wet cloth brushing her belly. She opened her eyes, and found him wiping away the evidence of his pleasure from her body. She smiled at how gentle he was being.

When he finished his task, he stood by the bed to look at her, admiring her vulnerability.

"Lay with me for a while," she said, extending her hand towards him.

"If a year ago someone had told me you would one day invite me to your bed, I would have deemed them insane," he observed as he complied and joined her.

"Rightfully so," she agreed, pulling the covers over them both. "I would have thought the same."

He inhaled deeply as she rested her head on his chest and entangled her legs with his.

"We've come a long way from the time you refused to shake my hand," he teased as he found her hand and held it.

She smiled and interlocked their fingers.

"Mr. Thornton… John—I should get used to calling you John," she corrected herself, "I must thank you for disregarding my passionate words," she said, referring to how she had offered herself to him. "When I'm in that state, I'm afraid I can't see reason."

"It was difficult resisting, believe me. But we've taken enough risks as it is, and if you were to get pregnant… the last thing I want is for your reputation to suffer for my sake," he explained.

"Well, if my reputation is of so much concern, you should have considered the impropriety of coming into my bedroom," she argued.

"I merely intended to have a conversation, but I can't be left alone with you…" he justified. "I was like Ulysses trying to resist the sirens' call, my love, it was impossible as there was no one to tie me down," he said, placing a kiss on her hand.

"Well, you covered Homer with father, I see," she said with some pride. "First, you call me a witch and now a siren… I'm not sure I'm flattered by these comparisons of yours…"

"Indeed—quite an interesting read," he remarked. "You won't be happy to know that I think you're far worse than those creatures."

She chuckled and placed her chin on his chest so that she could look at him as he explained his argument.

"You have my attention," she said.

"It is not only your voice that beckons me, but your body, your mind and your very soul—none of those can be fought by covering one's ears. Even if I were deprived of every sense, I would still be drawn to you…" he explained, gently caressing her back.

"Stop talking…" she whispered; her smile had faded and the gleam of passion was back in her eyes.

"Sirens kill their victims, providing an end to their suffering," he added, ignoring her request. "…whereas you, my love, inflict an incurable wound—inspiring a hunger that can't be sated," he said before biting her lower lip.

She whimpered in frustration at her own arousal… It had just been taken care of, how could the desire be back so soon?

"You speak as if you had played no part in my corruption," she complained hoarsely.

He rolled over so he was on top of her and kissed her deeply. Soon they were caressing each other again, and Thornton forced himself to stop—he knew that their desire would only escalate.

"If I don't leave now, I'm afraid I won't leave at all…" he muttered with pain in his voice, putting some distance between them. "We must make arrangements…" he said as he got off the bed and went to pick up his clothes. "I shall come back in a week or two to formally ask for your hand—it would be suspicious if I took you with me now," he explained as he put on his breeches and shirt. "This would also give me time to address the mill's final issues," he added. "You shall be the sole object of my attention by the time you come home."

He stopped talking when he noticed she was sitting up, hugging her knees and gazing upon him lovingly.

"What?" he asked.

"I like that word… home," she said, happy to feel she belonged somewhere. "I can't wait to be with you," she confessed excitedly.

He smiled and leaned in to kiss her again.

"I hope you feel the same way years from now, when we're quarreling about nonsense," he warned.

"I can't wait to quarrel about nonsense," she said with a wide smile. "In fact, we shall be the best at it… we have, after all, plenty of experience."

"Fair observation," he admitted before holding her face in his hands and kissing her again. "We shall speak more in the morning. Now, get some sleep," he ordered before bidding her good night and leaving the room.

She turned off her light and rolled on the bed, enjoying the scent that he had left around her; she could still feel him wrapped around her body. She tried to close her eyes and relax, but her smile wouldn't go away… This was the first time that it was difficult for her to fall asleep from feeling too happy.

* * *

The following morning, she was woken up by Dixon's knock on the door.

"Good morning, I'm coming in to prepare your bath," she said as she entered and headed towards the bathroom.

Margaret answered with a sleepy groan and turned to the other side. She took advantage of the time it took Dixon to finish this task to sleep a while longer.

Once the bathtub was full, Dixon opened the curtains to let the sunshine in.

"It's ready," she said, but Margaret didn't respond. "Remember Mr. Thornton is visiting and it would be very rude to show up late for breakfast," she warned.

Margaret sat up immediately.

"Miss Margaret! Where's your nightgown?" she asked in shock.

Margaret looked down and realized she had fallen asleep naked. She blushed and pulled up the covers to conceal her breasts.

Dixon saw the garment crumpled on the floor.

"Oh… well…you see," she stuttered as she formulated a convincing lie. "I couldn't sleep… I was feeling too hot, so I removed it."

"Well, you certainly look well rested," she commented, noticing a glow in her that she hadn't seen in months. "But look at all these buttons," she said, turning her attention back to the floor. "You didn't even remove it properly," she said with disapproval as she bent to pick them up. "Now I have to spend the day sewing these back on…" she complained as she grabbed the nightgown and searched the area where the buttons had fallen from. "This is quite strange…" she commented as she noticed all of the nightgown's buttons were in place—and that they were different to boot.

"Dixon, don't trouble yourself, I shall take care of it," she said blushing. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I don't want to be late for breakfast," she added, implying that she wanted for her to leave the room so she could bathe.

"Very well," she said, placing the nightgown and the buttons on the night table. "I'll be downstairs," she added before heading out.

Margaret sighed and covered her face with her hands—she had been too careless!

As she bathed she caught herself smiling like a fool a couple of times. There was an excitement to keeping her relationship with Thornton secret, but another part of her also wanted that phase to be over; she wanted the world to know that they belonged to each other.

While she washed her body, she noticed some new bruises and marks that screamed what had happened the night before. She chose to dress herself and do her own hair to avoid any more questions from Dixon.

When she was ready to head downstairs, she collected the buttons that Dixon had put on the night table and placed them in the pocket of her skirt.

She stepped into the dining room and found that everyone was already sitting down; even Henry was at the table.

"Good morning," she greeted. "Forgive me—I kept you waiting."

"It's no trouble, Margaret," said Edith. "Henry arrived just a moment ago."

"I had some free time, so I decided to join you for breakfast," he explained, although it was clear he wanted to watch over her while Thornton was in the house. "You look beautiful this morning, Margaret," he added.

"I must say, if you overslept you must do so more often," said Aunt Shaw. "You look radiant."

Margaret exchanged looks with Thornton, who was smiling discreetly.

"Thank you," she said sheepishly. "Did you sleep well, Mr. Thornton?" she asked as she seated beside him.

"Yes, Miss Hale, thank you for asking," he said.

"I'm happy to hear it," said Aunt Shaw as the maid came around to serve the table. "You're welcome to stay with us anytime!"

"I appreciate your offer. If you ever find yourselves in Milton, know that you shall also receive the same attentions," he said.

"That would be lovely," said Aunt Shaw, not actually meaning to ever visit the place.

"Oh, I love these rolls, are these from the bakery across the street?" asked Maxwell, changing the subject.

As the conversation drifted towards the bakery's products, Margaret got the loose buttons out of her pocket carefully. She placed them on the table and slid them towards him.

"I hope you brought more than one shirt," she whispered, and then moved that hand to the bread basket to grab a roll so that it wouldn't look suspicious.

He collected the buttons and put them in his waistcoat's pocket.

"Fortunately, I did," he whispered with a wicked smile.

"I'm afraid you must learn how to sew in order to avoid an awkward conversation with your mother," she jested.

He bumped his leg against hers under the table in response. Although their eyes were focused on their plates, they were both smiling. Henry wasn't oblivious to this strange exchange.

"At what time is your train departing, Mr. Thornton?" asked Henry, interrupting their secretive conversation and feeling eager for his rival to leave. "We wouldn't want you to miss it by any chance."

"In a couple of hours," he said politely.

Under different circumstances, he would have replied with a scowl, a witty remark and a hidden insult… but right now he was in too good of a mood for that.

When they finished breakfast, they moved to the sitting room so they could say their final goodbyes.

"I must thank you again for having me," said Thornton. "It was a pleasure."

"It was nothing!" insisted Aunt Shaw.

"Oh! Mr. Thornton, before you leave I must lend you that book you requested, I almost forgot. Come with me," said Margaret walking towards the library.

"Indeed. It had escaped my mind," he said, following her.

The rest of the group saw them leave the room, but only Henry suspected something was up. He had been very attentive to their every interaction since the night before, and book borrowing had never come up.

* * *

The library was quiet and empty. As soon as Margaret entered the room, she walked towards a dark corner and rested her back on a bookshelf.

"Should I compliment the flawless manner in which you delivered that lie?" Thornton asked as he approached her and caged her with his arms. "I'm not sure I want to encourage such behavior in the future."

"I wanted a proper goodbye," she justified; the quick glance to his lips betraying what she meant.

He kissed her gently, not wanting his passion to get out of control. It would be suspicious if they took too long.

They didn't realize that Henry had followed them. He was standing by the library's door, staring at them with hatred as they kissed. Although Henry wanted to direct his hate towards Thornton alone, he couldn't even blame it all on him, since she was eagerly kissing him back. His fists tightened with jealousy when Thornton's hands traced the outline of her body with familiarity—was it possible they had become lovers?

He made a sound with his shoe on purpose so that they thought he had just walked in. They separated immediately, and he pretended to have seen nothing.

"Did you find the book you were looking for?" he asked.

"Y-yes," she said nervously, grabbing the volume that was nearest. "We were just heading back."

Margaret walked swiftly past him to exit the library, looking down. Thornton followed her closely; when he crossed paths with Henry, he gave him a challenging look… Something in his eyes suggested he had seen them—Thornton's possessive side certainly hoped he had.

When they came back into the sitting room, Margaret handed the book to Mr. Thornton.

"You can return it when you come back to visit," she said.

"Thank you, Miss Hale. This shall spare me from the boredom of the long train ride," he said. "I have another trip to London scheduled soon, so you can be sure you'll be getting it back then."

"Is that so?" asked Aunt Shaw. "Then it's the perfect excuse for you to call on us while you're here."

"Of course," he said with a courteous smile.

When they all said their goodbyes and he finally retired, Henry approached Margaret from behind.

"You should be more careful when offering your heart," he muttered, procuring the others in the room wouldn't hear.

Margaret's blood ran cold when she realized they had been seen. She held her head high regardless, determined not to cower before his words.

"I believe that is none of your concern," she said severely. "Excuse me," she added a little louder before exiting the room.

"What happened?" asked Edith, a little taken aback by the abruptness of her leave.

Henry shrugged, pretending not to know. Despite what he had seen he wasn't ready to give up. He had spent too much time dwelling on her for it to amount to nothing.

* * *

While on the train ride to Milton, Thornton appreciated the fact that he had the cabin to himself, since he couldn't stop smiling. He was sure he had never experienced such a level of happiness in his life. Thanks to Lord Davenport the issue of the mill was practically solved, and this certainty was the base upon which his future with Margaret was now within grasp—his first son would have to be named James.

Once he got home he would search for partners willing to cover for the final 25%... Then, he would share his marriage plans with his mother and sister—hopefully they would react favorably. Before returning to London, he would need to search for a suitable ring to ask for her hand. And then he would have to be patient throughout the duration of their engagement… Waiting would be torture… Surely, they would find opportunities to be alone and revel in each other's company.

At around four in the afternoon he found himself at the entrance of Marlborough Mills. The surroundings were eerily empty and silent given the hour… he immediately knew something was amiss.

He entered the house and left the suitcase by the door. He continued walking until he reached the sitting room. His mother was there, hunched over and her head low.

"Mother," he called softly, noticing she hadn't sensed his presence.

She looked up and he was surprised to see that there were tears in her eyes.

"Oh, John," she lamented.

Thornton was scared by the emotional outburst—he couldn't remember the last time he had seen her cry.

"What happened? Another strike?" he asked, expecting the worst.

"No, it was the bank. Mr. Dawson came yesterday explaining that the loan extension hadn't been granted," she explained.

"What? Which Dawson? I talked to Ralph about this and he assured me he would give me that time," he argued in disbelief.

"Not Ralph… it was his brother, Charles… he said Ralph had no authority granting that favor. That it was known we wouldn't be able to cover the new interest rates," she explained.

Thornton clenched his teeth; he needed to punch something… Those scheming Dawson brothers had waited until he was gone to make their move.

"What happened?" he asked.

"They came with a warrant," she explained. "They took every pack of cotton that was ready for delivery and they said that it was part of the payment. I tried to stop them but-"

"Stop, mother," he said, interrupting the apology that was coming. "It wasn't your fault. There is nothing you could have done. I need to meet with them right now," he said before heading out again.

* * *

An hour later he was engaged in a heated argument at the office of Dawson & Dawson's bank.

"We had an agreement!" he exclaimed facing the two brothers.

"I apologize, Mr. Thornton. But I clearly remember saying that I would have to consult with Charlie before granting an extension," said Ralph.

The truth was Ralph had made the agreement, but since he had no authority to do that—and he wanted to avoid being chastised by his elder brother—he chose to tweak the story.

"You must know that nothing here gets done without my approval," interjected Charles.

"Charles, I must ask you to reconsider," said Thornton, knowing that challenging Ralph's version would be futile. "I have procured 75% of the money needed to pay off the loan. Securing the remaining 25% won't be hard, since I have Lord Davenport's endorsement," he reasoned. "But for this to work, I need to complete all of my deliveries, and therefore, all of the cotton you seized. I can't afford to lose my clients' trust."

There was a brief silence in the room.

"If you can give me that 75% right now, you have a deal," said Charles.

Thornton sighed in frustration. Lord Davenport and his friend would only hand the 75% until he had secured the remaining 25%... Under those circumstances this deal was impossible.

"I don't have the money at the moment," he confessed.

"Then I'm afraid there can be no deal," said Charles. As a banker, he was used to denying this kind of requests. "Thornton, believe me, I understand where you're coming from… But, what you're asking is impossible," he said, showing some empathy. "I respect you, which is why we secured your list of clients—we won't sell the seized cotton to anyone else—this way your reputation won't be affected. Their payments shall be made to us in order to cover part of your debt… We will be returning to take the looms, I'm sure auctioning them can cover for the rest."

Thornton couldn't believe the ease with which this man was pulling apart everything he had ever worked for.

"I understand," he said vacantly.

* * *

He chose to walk home instead of taking a carriage… He couldn't believe how his world had shifted so dramatically in the course of one day. He had fought so hard to save Marlborough Mills, and now it seemed all of his blood and sweat had been for naught. The stress and the fatigue of the past months—how he had wished them away—now, he would gladly choose them over the despair that invaded him.

When he approached the mill's entrance, he saw Higgins heading out.

"Master," he greeted.

"Higgins, you're still here?" he asked.

"The shift wasn't over," he observed.

Thornton smiled, convinced that he had made one of the best decisions when he hired him.

"After the Dawson brothers came yesterday announcing the mill's closure, the others decided not to show," he explained.

"I thought so," said Thornton.

"I did manage to collect some signatures," he said, handing him a roll of paper. "This is also why I came today. These people are willing to work for you if you ever decide to open another mill."

Thornton took it and smiled slightly, touched by the gesture.

"I also wanted to ask after Margaret, since you were in London," he added. "We received a letter last week, but it was written almost two months ago—the post can be slow," he complained.

The mention of her name broke his heart… How could all of his plans still be feasible after this blow? Losing the mill surely meant losing her as well—she wouldn't want to be with him now.

"Yes, I did see her," he said, attempting to hide his pain. "She's well… living with her aunt and cousin."

"I thought maybe she would come back to Milton, she hinted she would be visiting soon in her letter," he observed.

"I wouldn't know," he lied. "We probably won't be seeing her again," he said, voicing his own fear. "Excuse me, Higgins. I have a lot in my mind at the moment."

"Sure. Let me know if you need anything," he said before excusing himself.

Thornton continued walking until he reached the house… Things couldn't get any worse.

When he went into the sitting room, he realized he had been wrong—things could get worse... Fanny was on the couch beside their mother.

"How did it go?" asked Mrs. Thornton with concern.

His downcast eyes said everything; Fanny and Mrs. Thornton immediately knew that the news weren't good. He sat down in one of the armchairs and sighed.

"I came to tell you about Watson's success and this is what I find," said Fanny resentfully.

"Fanny…" Mrs. Thornton tried to intervene.

"I told you, John!" exclaimed Fanny, standing up. "Look at mother… If only you had listened to Watson you would have made thousands! You could have kept the mill and the house!"

Thornton closed his eyes and gripped his temples, knowing her tirade wasn't over.

"Fanny, stop," insisted Mrs. Thornton.

"No, mother, for once you must admit that I was right!" she continued. "What will people say when they hear of your eviction?" she asked turning back to his brother. "It's an embarrassment for us all! You can be sure that Ann Latimer won't have you now—or any other lady in her right mind!"

She took a deep breath when she saw no reaction from her brother.

"I shall ask Watson to lend you some money," she said with more calmness. "Although I can't guarantee he'll listen. I shall come by tomorrow, mama," she said before exiting the house.

When she left, Mrs. Thornton immediately walked to her son's side and placed a hand on his shoulder in support.

"Mr. Bell will show in a couple of weeks to take the house," he observed. "I have some time to find a more affordable place… I hope you don't mind if it's smaller…"

"I don't care about the house!" she exclaimed. "I care about you."

He placed his hand over hers.

"At least Fanny is taken care of," he said. "Maybe you can stay with her for a while… I want to spare you the stress of moving out."

"Stop talking nonsense, John… I'll be here every step of the way," she insisted. "What happened in London?" she asked after a brief pause.

"It doesn't matter now," he said, staring blankly ahead. He was not only referring to his talks with Lord Davenport, but also to his plans with Margaret. "It will just be you and I again."

* * *

AN. Thank you for all your encouraging comments! Hope you enjoy this chapter!


	7. Chapter 7

A week had passed since Thornton's departure and Margaret awaited his return. He was supposed to show soon. Although she didn't know the exact date, she was impatient.

The days had been hard on Margaret, spending everyday dreading a visit from Henry. She feared he would tell her family everything he had seen in the library—to her surprise and gratitude, he hadn't shown at all.

That evening, as she sat in the couch with her family waiting to be called into the dining room, she realized she wouldn't be so fortunate much longer.

"Oh, Maxwell, when is Henry coming back?" inquired Aunt Shaw, "I've missed his conversations at dinner."

"Well, he's been busy this week," he justified. "But this morning he told me he would join us—seemed quite eager, too."

Margaret masked her discomfort.

"We should also be expecting Mr. Thornton's visit soon," said Edith. "He did say he'd be coming to London sometime next week," she added while she entertained Sholto with a stuffed animal.

"You're right… I also look forward to it. He's a pleasant gentleman," observed Aunt Shaw. "I must admit that I had a terrible prejudice against northerners before I made his acquaintance."

"Mama!" protested Edith. "That is so unfair."

Margaret smiled. The smile faded when the maid came in to announce Henry's arrival.

"Good evening," he greeted with a wide smile as he came into the room.

Margaret found his upbeat demeanor suspicious.

"Henry! You've finally decided to show!" exclaimed Aunt Shaw.

"Forgive my absence…" he said. "It shall not happen again," he added giving a side-glance to Margaret.

Margaret immediately avoided his gaze, feeling very awkward.

"Excuse me, I'm not feeling hungry. I shall retire early," she said, standing up.

"Actually," interrupted Henry, "I was hoping we could have a moment alone," he said.

Her eyes widened and her whole family stared at them in shock. She knew that, while she was horrified, the others were pleasantly surprised—they were expecting a marriage proposal.

"Yes!" exclaimed Edith, rising quickly while holding Sholto tightly against her. "Come along! Maxwell, mama, let us give them some space," she said, instructing them to accompany her.

"I don't think that's necessary," said Margaret, although it seemed no one could hear the fear in her voice.

"We will be in the dining room," said Aunt Shaw, almost singing.

She watched helplessly as, one by one, they abandoned the sitting room. Maxwell was the last one to leave; he directed a final congratulatory smile to his brother before closing the door.

Henry walked leisurely towards her.

"What do you want?" she asked directly.

"That tone is completely inappropriate, Margaret," he said, stopping a couple of feet away from her. "If I tell you that I have news about your dear Thornton, would you be more civil?" he asked mockingly.

Margaret's curiosity became clear on her features.

"Ah! I've got your attention…" he observed.

He continued to approach her until he was standing right beside her, too close for comfort.

"He won't be coming back for you," he whispered near her ear.

Margaret turned around defiantly.

"Of course he will!" she exclaimed.

"No, he won't…" he insisted with a smile. "At the moment, a letter explaining it all is probably on its way."

"Speak clearly," she demanded.

"Very well… Marlborough Mills is no more," he stated, visibly pleased with himself. "I heard it just this morning—the Thorntons are broke," he explained. "Except for the sister; she seems to have abandoned the sinking ship on time."

Margaret's brow furrowed in bafflement. Everything was supposed to be alright… How had this happened? She sat back down, needing a moment to assimilate the information.

"He misled you into thinking he could provide for you—give you the life you deserve…" he said, kneeling to level his face with hers, "…when he can't even pay for a train ticket!" he exclaimed with a laugh.

Margaret chuckled softly and Henry smiled, thinking she had been amused by his cruel joke.

"Oh, Henry… Are you that clueless?" she asked, making his smile disappear. "You think I'm with him because of his money?"

Henry swallowed hard, remembering Thornton's hands on her body.

"Whatever else he has given you, I can give you, too," he said passionately, taking her hand.

She pulled back and stood up to put some distance between them. Henry incorporated and looked at her with fury.

"Was it only a kiss or is he your lover?" he asked with jealousy.

"That is my business," she retorted.

"I demand to know!" he exclaimed.

"You have no right to demand it… Henry, stop this," she pleaded. "I don't want to hurt you… My feelings for you haven't changed since we last spoke about this subject."

"You prefer him still?" he muttered.

"It's not a matter of preferring," she said with a pitying smile. "I love him."

"Don't say that!" he said as he sprinted forward.

Margaret stepped back in fear until she hit the wall; his face was inches away from hers.

"I'm sure once you see I can be just as… attentive…" he whispered as he placed his hands on her waist, "…you will see things differently."

"Let me go," she said, pushing him away in disgust. "Do not touch me again," she warned.

"Or what? You'll call for Edith?" he asked with a grin. "Please, do. I'm looking forward to explaining how her sweet, innocent Margaret turned out to be a whore," he spat, enraged by her rejection.

The word felt like a slap. She narrowed her eyes, trying to find the Henry she thought she knew, the one she had once considered a friend—he wasn't there anymore.

She made her way towards the door that led to the dining room. She wanted to get away from him as quickly as possible.

"You think I won't?" he asked defiantly as her hand came to rest on the handle. "It's not too late, Margaret… Reconsider."

She opened the door and walked into the dining room without speaking another word.

Aunt Shaw, Edith and Maxwell were all looking at her expectantly from the table, waiting for the big announcement.

"And?" asked Edith, barely able to keep her excitement from showing.

Henry entered the room after her. Everyone's smiles faded when they saw him—he was clearly upset.

"Oh, why is everyone looking so serious?" he asked, pretending to be in a good mood. "I have an announcement to make," he clarified.

They exchanged quizzical looks while Margaret stood straight as a board.

"Mr. Thornton has lost all of his money," he stated, placing his hands on the back of an empty chair.

"Oh, what a shame!" exclaimed Aunt Shaw.

"I don't understand what it has to do with you two," said Edith, who was still waiting to hear about an engagement.

"Oh, nothing with me, for sure…" said Henry, "but with Margaret…" he added turning to her. "This is where it gets interesting…"

Margaret turned to look at him; there was a brief confrontation in that silent exchange.

"I won't be a part of this spectacle," declared Margaret with anger, and rushed out of the room.

As she made her way upstairs, she suspected Henry would be telling her family what he saw. But why should she feel embarrassed? She loved John Thornton… whether he was rich or poor didn't change that reality.

She went into her room and grabbed one of her larger suitcases; she collected her money and other essentials, and picked clothes at random until it was full. The suitcase put up a fight when she tried to close it, but she managed to succeed after a couple of tries. When she finished, she took it by the handle, inhaled deeply and straightened her back. Then, she made her way back down towards the dining room.

When she entered, they all stared at her seriously. There was disappointment in her aunt's eyes, and she knew that meant Henry had opened his mouth.

"How could you, Margaret?" asked Aunt Shaw. "Thank God your parents aren't here to see this—what would they say? …and with a northerner without a penny!"

"Mama, don't be like that," said Edith. "It was just a kiss. Margaret, why did you bring your suitcase, my dear? We won't chase you out of the house for this silly thing—it was a mistake."

"No, Edith…" argued Margaret. "Forgive me if I disrespected you, Aunt," she said before turning to everyone else. "I am leaving… not because I have to, but because I want to."

Even though he was feeling smaller than a bug, Henry held his head high. He knew he had crossed a line.

"I am grateful for everything you did for me these past two months, and I shall keep in touch," she said with a smile. "But I must go."

"And where in the world do you intend to go?" asked her aunt.

Margaret smiled, arched an eyebrow and turned to look at Henry.

"To my penniless lover," she said with pride—he looked murderous. "Excuse me," she added before heading towards the main entrance, leaving everyone at the table with their mouths agape.

"Miss Margaret!" exclaimed Dixon, when she passed her by in the hallway, "where are you going?"

"I can't stop now, Dixon," she said, knowing that the last train to Milton would be departing soon. "I shall come back for you, don't worry," she managed to add before getting out of the house.

She got in the first available carriage and asked to be taken to the train station as fast as possible. As they made their way through the streets, she stopped to think about what she had just done. Had she actually ran away and said the word lover in front of her family? She couldn't help but giggle at her own recklessness—there would surely be consequences to pay, but she would dwell on them later.

She got to the station five minutes before the train was scheduled to depart. She ran to the ticket office and spent most of the money she had at hand. She ran to the wagon and the wheels of the train started turning as soon as she boarded. She found a seat and allowed herself to catch her breath—she would be home soon.

* * *

For Mr. Thornton, the past week had been easily one of the worst of his life. He had spent it penning letters to his former clients, explaining what had happened; he also reached out to Lord Davenport and his friend… but the most difficult letter to write had been the one for Margaret.

The letter would probably arrive late, but he didn't have the time to show up and tell her about his circumstances in person. She would probably hear all about it even before the letter reached her hands—bad news spread like wildfire.

The Dawson brothers, true to their word, had come to take the looms to the auction house. Thornton had watched helplessly as they were carried out of the mill and loaded into large carts. He had even scolded a couple of the men who were manhandling them, until he reminded himself that they were no longer his.

Throughout the week he had also scouted for a smaller house, but hadn't yet chosen, since he wanted to give his mother the opportunity of making that decision. They talked about auctioning their larger pieces of furniture—there would be no room for a piano in their new home.

These days were also spent thinking about what he would do for a living in the future; he had forgotten how to do anything else but manage a mill. Although Margaret and the family he envisioned weren't in the cards anymore, he still had his mother to take care of.

That evening they sat together for dinner.

"We should let Anna go," said Mrs. Thornton in a low voice so she wouldn't hear them. "It's an expense that we can no longer afford."

"No, mother," argued Thornton. "She has been with us for years, where would she go? And you should also consider-" he stopped himself short.

"I should also consider what?" she asked.

"You should also consider that you will need assistance," he said gently.

"You intend to say that I'm getting old, ha!" she stated with a sarcastic laugh—this was a truth she didn't want to admit.

"You're beautiful as ever, mother," he complimented dutifully, making her smile. "But, I won't sacrifice your comfort needlessly. I will cover that expense however I can."

She extended her hand to hold his.

"You're my greatest accomplishment," she said.

Thornton was touched by her words.

"Don't let Fanny hear you say that," he jested and they both smiled.

When they finished their meal, Thornton walked his mother to the bottom of the staircase.

"Good night," he bid.

"Aren't you going to bed?" she asked.

"Not now… I need to clear my head," he said.

His mother nodded and asked no more. She went up the stairs and he went out.

Thornton walked the square slowly, the night made it look cold and dark, but he could picture it perfectly the way it should be: full of light and of people running one way or the other, busy with work. The nostalgia threatened to break the mask of strength he had been wearing, but he fought back—he couldn't allow himself to crumble.

He looked up at the dark window in which he had seen Margaret's perfect figure. He yearned for her more than ever… He didn't know if he should thank or curse the opportunity of having tasted her—the memories would certainly make her impossible to forget, although it was unlikely he would ever want to forget.

He came into his office and lighted the lamp. He looked at his now empty desk and the clock on the wall—how many long hours he had spent in this tiny room! He made his way out and continued walking, heading to where the looms had been up to a couple of days ago. He entered and strode towards the middle of the dark room. He looked around; the moonlight that came through the windows illuminated enough to show its nakedness—the space seemed wider than ever without the machines.

The noise of footsteps made him turn around towards the entrance; there was a dark silhouette. When the figure came into the moonlight, he realized it was Margaret.

* * *

After reaching Milton, Margaret used the money that she had left to pay for a carriage to Marlborough Mills.

She didn't realize how late it was until she walked to the entrance and realized that the house was completely dark. It would be embarrassing to show up at this hour—she would wake them all up. She felt empty inside when she considered that maybe they didn't live there anymore.

As she walked the square, she noticed the light coming from the mill's office. She smiled, knowing that there was just one person who could be there at this hour. She approached, carrying her suitcase with both hands—it was a little heavy. She opened the door, let herself in and set the suitcase on the floor. There was no one.

She headed back out and continued her exploration; she figured that the light meant he was around. She saw that the door leading to the looms was open… She remembered that part of the building perfectly, as it had been where she had first laid eyes on him. She went in that direction, every footstep echoing loudly.

When she went through the door, she noticed that there were no looms anymore—her heart broke at the sight. Thornton was standing there, in the middle of that emptiness.

* * *

"Margaret?" he asked, squinting, not sure if it was a hallucination.

She extended her arms and ran to embrace him. He felt her arms tighten around his waist and her head bury in his chest. When he understood what was happening she held her, too.

"What are you doing here?" he asked in disbelief.

She placed her hands behind his neck and, standing on her tiptoes, fervently placed kisses all over his face. He closed his eyes, allowing her lips to fill his heart with the warmth he thought he'd never experience again.

"My dearest," she said, looking into his eyes with adoration. "I came as soon as I heard. Are you well?" she asked with concern.

Thornton couldn't believe it. Despite his reduced circumstances, she had come all the way to Milton in the middle of the night to be with him—to make sure he was alright. He hadn't realized how much she loved him until that moment. But he wasn't happy; he couldn't allow himself to be, and precisely because he loved her just as much. The last thing he wanted was to condemn her to a life of hardship.

He took her hands and pulled them away from his neck. She stared at him in confusion.

"Margaret, you don't have to," he said with pain in his voice. "I can't do this to you."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I can't condemn you to this life," he said, the passion he was feeling made his voice tremble. "You deserve better."

"Don't be ridiculous," she responded.

"I'm serious," he insisted, looking at her severely. "I had never been more serious in my life."

"Well, it's too late for that kind of talk," she argued. "I'm yours."

"No, it's not too late," he countered. "I have not taken you… You're not compromised nor obliged to me in any way. You're free to find a more suitable man."

There was a brief silence in which they just stared at each other. Finally, Margaret nodded once, as if she had made up her mind about something. She stepped back, freeing her hands from his hold.

"I understand," she said coldly; her attitude towards him changing completely. "Then our nights together do not bind us?" she asked.

Thornton couldn't discern if she was happy with this news. Was it only their previous escapades that made her believe she was forced to remain by his side?

"No, if you find someone else, that matter shouldn't concern you," he assured. "There's no proof and you must know that I would never speak a word against you."

"Very well," she said looking down. "I think I've heard all I needed to hear," she said before turning around and walking out.

When he found himself standing confused and alone in the dark, the idea that she may have been a hallucination came back. It was very unlikely that she had left London at night and on her own—her family would have stopped her. But what if it was really her? Where had she gone? He couldn't turn her away in the middle of the night; she would need somewhere to sleep.

He exited the building and ran to the middle of the square. He looked around, hoping to see her… What if she had already left? What if she was wandering the streets all alone? Just when he was about to rush out the mill's gates, he saw the light coming from his office. He considered the possibility of her being in there.

He walked in that direction and opened the door slightly. The first thing that caught his eye was the suitcase that had been put to the side, confirming his theory. When he opened the door completely, the image before him left him paralyzed.

"Could you close the door?" asked Margaret after a brief silence. "I wouldn't want to catch a cold," she added.

She was right to fear she could catch a cold! She was sitting on top of his desk, with her crossed legs dangling from the edge, her back proudly straightened, and her arms crossed over her chest... completely naked. Her hair was still pulled up, allowing him to appreciate the length of her elegant neck.

"The door…" she insisted with a smile when she noticed he still wasn't moving.

Her words finally made him react. He stepped into the room clumsily and closed the door behind him.

"What are you doing?" he asked in alarm, trying to keep himself from ogling her body.

"You explained it so clearly… I have to make sure I'm compromised enough so that you do the honorable thing," she said matter-of-factly.

Thornton couldn't believe Margaret had dared to do something like this. Where had her shyness gone?

"This is not what I meant," he said.

"Oh, I know what you meant…" she argued calmly.

"Are you sober?" he asked, swallowing nervously—his body had already responded to the sight of her.

"Quite," she answered as she uncrossed her arms and placed them behind her, with her palms against the desk, to reveal her breasts.

Thornton unconsciously licked his lips as he admired her.

"You don't know what you're asking," he warned, as he stepped closer without meaning to.

"Don't I?" she asked, stretching one of her legs forward with the grace of a ballerina; her foot grazing his hip.

Before he could stop himself, his hand reached for her ankle. He traced a path up her leg as he continued stepping forward. When he got close enough, she opened her legs so he was standing between them.

Margaret's adrenaline pumped through her body. She never thought she could behave in this way, but having rebelled back in London made her aware of the self-assurance and confidence that had been hiding within her. She had also been given the right incentive.

Thornton didn't dare to make another move. They looked at each other as they craved for the pleasure they knew they could enjoy together—their breaths quickening in anticipation.

Margaret's hands traveled to the top button of his waistcoat.

"I'll be more careful this time," she said with a playful smile as she unbuttoned it.

"You need to think this through," he cautioned, but in his lust allowed her to continue with his shirt. "Life won't be easy with me," he said as his fingers brushed her thighs tentatively.

"Do you think I'm currently incapable of making my own decisions?" she asked before letting the garments fall to the floor. "It saddens me to see that even though I'm here, bare in front of you in every possible way, you don't know me at all—and you presume to love me!" she exclaimed with sarcasm.

"You know I do!" he countered immediately; his hands grasping her hips.

"Yet you think I'm the kind of woman who would turn her back at the first sign of trouble," she argued. "I want to be with you…" she reiterated, caressing his face, "…whatever the circumstances may be."

"You say that now," he contradicted.

"Give up," she ordered. "I know how this battle of wills ends," she assured him, before brushing her lips against his briefly—teasing him.

"You underestimate me," he lied, not wanting to admit how close he was to giving in.

She became serious, but said nothing; her lips parted and there was a gleam of wickedness in her eyes briefly, as if she had something up her sleeve. Thornton beheld her with curiosity as she leaned back slightly and tentatively placed her hand on her belly. His heart skipped a beat when it slowly began trailing lower. He immediately remembered the words he had spoken the week before.

 _Had I been there to see it…_

His grip on her hips tightened as he guessed her destination—she had the conniving mind of a military strategist. As she reached between her legs, she held his gaze, waiting to see his reaction; the expectancy in his eyes encouraged her and convinced her that this would break him.

Her hand started moving in the way he had shown her and he watched in wonder—he had never been this aroused in his life. Her eyes became heavy-lidded and her skin flushed; he took in the sight, everything about her in that moment tugged at his most primal instincts. When she started moaning softly, he kneaded her thighs—silently urging her to continue.

The pleasure made her head fall back.

He traced his hand up her back to clutch her nape and force her to look back at him. There was now a hint of triumph on her face—she knew she had him in the palm of her hand. She bit her lower lip and eyed him up and down hungrily as she continued.

"Maybe you underestimated me," she mocked between pants, as his grip on her nape tightened.

The glare he gave her conflicted with his body language.

"Take me," she whispered, looking deep into his eyes.

The siren's call, he thought before sighing in defeat and pulling her towards him. He kissed her passionately, taking her by surprise, but she was quick to respond. As their lips met in a desperate rhythm, she undid his trousers. He helped her push them out of the way along with his underwear.

He roughly guided her into a new position, making her lay on the desk so he could climb on top of her. When he was hovering over her, she immediately clasped her legs around his hips so that his arousal came into direct contact with her core. She gasped in delight and buried her hands in his hair.

He trailed lower, kissing her neck. Using her waist as leverage, he began to thrust slowly without entering her. She held on to him and allowed her hips to follow his lead. She moaned unabashedly, knowing that this time no one could hear them.

"Are you sure?" he asked huskily, caressing her hair and searching for the answer in her eyes.

"Yes," she whispered.

He positioned himself right before her entrance.

"It will hurt at first," he warned.

She nodded in understanding.

She sucked in a breath and dug her nails in his back when she felt him sink into her. She squeezed her eyes shut and reminded herself that the pain would be gone soon. Seeing her distress, he remained still—fighting the urge to continue thrusting.

"Relax," he whispered.

He kissed her cheek and caressed her furrowed brow soothingly. His other hand snuck in between them to continue pleasuring her.

When the pain started to ebb, she opened her eyes—the effort to hold back was written all over his features. She kissed him deeply; her tongue leading a slow exploration. As the pleasure gradually returned, her body writhed on its own.

Her movements encouraged him, and he began to thrust slowly as his hands traced the outline of her body possessively. She drew her head back, breaking their kiss, and letting out a cry. He stopped, thinking maybe he had hurt her.

"Don't stop," she pleaded breathlessly.

Driven by her words, he continued moving; every thrust harder than the last. The increasing pleasure made it more difficult for him to keep any restraint.

He grabbed her arms, placed them above her head and made her hold on to the edge of the desk so that she remained in that position. He admired her in this vulnerable state, as if she were his captive; her loosened braids, her arched back and her heaving chest—she was finally his. He caressed her arms, her breasts and waist with adoration as he dove deeper into her.

She enjoyed that position as well; feeling exposed before him heightened every sensation. She thrashed her head when he placed wet kisses and tender bites all over her chest, and continued that trail down to her breasts.

Knowing that he wouldn't be able to resist much longer, he again led his fingers to that spot that he knew would bring about her rapture. The combination of sensations made her let go of the desk to hold on to him for dear life. As his pace quickened, her moans became louder.

One final thrust sent her over the edge, and he grunted when the feel of her tightening around him brought his release. Finishing inside of her felt like heaven. His arms buckled under him and he rested his head on her chest, which was still moving up and down with haste. She caressed his hair while they both recovered.

All of a sudden, she chuckled and he looked up at her in confusion.

"What is it, you, mad woman?" he asked.

"This sets a precedent on who shall win every future argument," she said with a smile.

"Don't be so certain," he argued.

"Why is that?" she asked while she continued brushing his hair with her fingers.

"Because this one I wanted to lose," he said, grinning and propping himself up to steal a kiss.

He repositioned himself to lie on his side and she did the same, so that they were facing each other.

"Now that you have entrapped me into marriage with your witchery," he jested, as his fingers traced the curve that led from her waist to her hip, "what should we do?"

"Entrapped you?" she asked, feigning shock.

She pinched his arm in reproach, making him laugh as she had never heard him laugh before—the sound made her very happy.

"I don't care for a large wedding," she confessed. "Let us be married tomorrow morning," she suggested.

"You deemed it improper when I proposed it," he pointed out.

"I have reconsidered. And propriety is not a concern for me anymore, given…" she hesitated.

"Given what?" he urged her to continue.

"Given the fact that… I… may have…" she said with trepidation, "…admitted to my family that we're lovers."

"May have?" he asked.

"Well…" she wavered. "I suppose saying I plainly admitted to it would be more accurate," she reasoned. She ignored his shocked expression and continued: "so, you see, eloping could only improve the opinion they have of me."

"I can't picture such a scene!" he exclaimed with a laugh.

"Henry saw us that day in the library…" she explained.

"I suspected as much," he said.

"He didn't show up at the house all week. But today he came to talk about Marlborough Mills in the hopes I would leave you. He harassed me and exposed me…"

"If I ever see him again-" he threatened.

"No," she interrupted. "I chose to come to you despite their judgement. That matter is over. Let us just be together."

"Very well," he said. "I confess I thought you would leave me when you heard the news."

She caressed his cheek tenderly.

"I don't want you to be my guardian; I want to be your partner. If I need to work, I shall do so and happily. It is not a death sentence," she said with amusement.

"I hadn't considered that perspective," he said thoughtfully.

Her optimism was contagious. Suddenly, all the dread he had been feeling during that past week seemed meaningless.

"Would you mind if we moved to the house?" she asked. "Your desk isn't particularly comfortable," she complained.

"Of course," he said, sitting up immediately to find their discarded clothes.

After they half dressed, Thornton grabbed her suitcase and they headed into the house. They went up the stairs and Margaret was grateful that Anna wasn't prowling about in her sleep. When they reached the hallway, Thornton opened the door to his room and waited for her to get inside. After they both entered, he closed the door behind him and set her suitcase to the side.

"Are you sure I can sleep in here?" she whispered.

"Even if you slept in the other room, your unexpected presence at the breakfast table will give us away," he reasoned.

"I'm not looking forward to what your mother will have to say," she said as she opened her suitcase and fished for her nightgown.

"I shall take care of that," he reassured her.

Once they both changed, they got into bed. In the darkness of the room, he held her against him; her back to his chest.

"I don't think I can sleep," she said after a few minutes of silence, "I'm too happy."

"I was thinking the same," he said, tightening his hold around her.

She turned around to face him and gave him a mischievous look.

"What?" he asked, grinning back.

She pushed him so that he was lying on his back and straddled him. She held his gaze as she traced her palms down his bare chest. For him, the image felt like déjà vu.

"You _are_ a witch," he whispered before pulling her down so he could kiss her and make love to her again.

* * *

The next morning, Thornton woke first to find himself entangled in her arms. He smiled at the realization that last night hadn't been a dream—this was real life. He kissed the top of her head, waking her up.

"Is it morning already?" she asked drowsily, keeping her eyes closed.

"I'm afraid it is, my love," he said, placing another kiss on her shoulder. "And we must face mother."

She opened her eyes, grabbed the covers and pulled them over her head, suddenly feeling very anxious. He tugged them down.

"You shall be alright," he promised, gazing upon her lovingly.

His words gave her courage, the sooner they got this awkward conversation out of the way, the sooner they could find somewhere to get married.

Like children with a new toy, they helped each other get dressed giddily. She allowed him to tighten her corset, and he showed her how to put on his cravat. He stared at her as she did her hair in front of the mirror, and she smiled when she caught him spying on her in the reflection.

"Perfect," he complimented. "I shall never get enough of this," he said.

She chuckled as she secured the last braid up.

When they were both ready, she took a deep breath before heading out of the room.

"She is probably at the table," he said, leading the way out into the hallway and down the stairs.

When they got into the dining room, the newspaper was covering Mrs. Thornton's face. Margaret noticed that there were three plates set at the table and she swallowed nervously.

"Good morning, John… Miss Hale," she said before putting the newspaper down beside her. "I'm glad you decided to come back so soon," she said seriously.

"Mrs. Thornton, I…" she couldn't complete the sentence; the shyness she thought she had left behind invaded her again.

"You knew?" he asked, taken aback.

"Of course… It was obvious you were up to something... I noticed during the last day of Miss Hale's visit," she said. "And I saw her from the window last night, walking into your office with a suitcase," she added. "Care to explain?" she asked, extending her arm so that they would sit down.

Thornton pulled Margaret's chair so she could sit, and then proceeded to do the same at the head of the table.

"Mother, Margaret and I have decided to get married…" he began.

"Well, I had already come to that conclusion," she interrupted.

"…today," he added.

Her eyes widened, and she immediately turned to look at Margaret.

"Are you with child?" she asked in alarm.

"No," Margaret responded, swallowing nervously. "Well…" maybe after last night, she finished the sentence in her head.

"Then, why the haste?" she asked. "You had the nerve to reject him not that long ago."

Margaret's courage came back then.

"You were right when you told me I knew nothing about the man I had rejected," she said. "I know better now," she added, glancing at him briefly to exchange a smile. "As for the reason behind our haste… My family didn't approve of the match because of the current circumstances... So... I ran away…" she explained.

There was a brief silence.

"I was right about you…" Mrs. Thornton said. "You're headstrong and reckless… you can't be stopped from doing what you will," she accused.

Margaret looked down briefly, not knowing if the words were meant as an insult or a compliment.

"I think we could use someone with your character to face these difficult times," she added with a smug smile.

Margaret smiled in return.

"Mind you, I approve the union but not of the way it came about," she scolded. "But what's done is done, and we better address this matter as soon as possible… You will be the target of gossip for a couple of months, so you must be prepared for that. In this house we've also had to overcome being that target—soon enough someone always does something else that's worth gossiping about."

Margaret nodded, sure that she could face anything that came her way as long as she was with him.

* * *

That afternoon they exchanged vows in a modest chapel—the only one in Milton that allowed that kind of infamous impromptu ceremonies—with only Mrs. Thornton as their witness and using Margaret's parents' set of rings.

The rest of the day they allowed themselves to be happy. There were no cares about finding a new house, or auctioning the furniture... they had tomorrow for that.

They retired to bed early, wanting nothing but to have each other as husband and wife. Their lovemaking was slow; they enjoyed each other thoroughly, knowing they had all the time in the world.

They held each other in the afterglow.

"Mrs. Margaret Thornton," he said. "What do you think?"

"I like it," she said, smiling.

"I'm afraid this is the only kind of honeymoon we can afford," he said after a brief pause. "There's a lot to do."

"I understand," she said. "Once we work through this, maybe in a couple of years, we could go visit Fred in Spain… I hear it's beautiful," she mused. "In the meantime…" she said, stopping her daydream. "Your mother and I could go and see the new places you have scouted tomorrow," she offered. "I have some experience from when I searched for a house with father."

"Very well," he said. "Then I will pay a visit to the auction house."

"See?" she asked. "We're an admirable team already."

"Indeed," he agreed.

He kissed her and closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep feeling happy and hopeful about the future.

* * *

Mr. Bell had arrived to London earlier in the week to see his doctor and the news hadn't been good. His idea of spending his final days in a house in Brighton now didn't seem that appealing; now he inclined for the Americas, where he would enjoy better weather. But he couldn't leave without making sure Margaret was alright.

He had sent a note earlier to announce his visit, and was at present waiting at the door of Mrs. Shaw's home. When they let him into the sitting room, he noticed that only Mrs. Shaw and Edith were there.

"Good afternoon, ladies," he said cheerfully, preventing his illness from having an effect on his good humor.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Bell," said Edith with a smile that seemed feigned. "Please, have a sit."

"Thank you," he said, taking a seat and noticing Mrs. Shaw was, quite strangely, not in a sociable mood.

"Well, I came to see Margaret, but I'm afraid I have come at a bad time," he said, noting she wasn't there. "Is she out?" he asked.

Mrs. Shaw laughed sarcastically, but Edith just gave her a chastising look. She turned to look at him.

"Mr. Bell… you see-" she began.

"Edith, don't!" her mother exclaimed.

"Mama, he's her guardian—he will find out sooner or later!" she argued.

"He only needs to know that Margaret doesn't live here anymore!" exclaimed Mrs. Shaw, "…that ungrateful girl."

"What happened?" he asked with concern.

"She…" Edith began, not daring to look him in the eye. "She eloped with Mr. Thornton."

"What?" he exclaimed in disbelief, rising from his seat.

"Yes," she confirmed. "She left a little over a week ago."

"That's impossible!" he exclaimed. "Did she know about his bankruptcy?" he asked.

He had heard about it and intended to go to Milton to take the property after this.

"Oh, that is the worst part of all! She knew about it and didn't care!" lamented Mrs. Shaw. "What a disgrace!"

"What about Mr. Lennox?" he asked.

"Oh, he hasn't been around since then," said Edith.

"I must go," he said with haste. "Thank you for your time."

As he headed out of the house he went over all of what they had said again. He didn't want to believe that everything he had done had been in vain; but, more than that, he didn't want to believe that what he deemed a mere caprice had been love—the guilt would be too great to bear.

He needed to go to Milton.

* * *

John and Margaret were sitting in the library on the only couch that was left. They were looking at the records of the furniture that had been taken to the auction house.

"Well, I think we're ready to move into the new house," she said, having already agreed to one with her mother-in-law.

"Yes," he said. "And it leaves us with enough money to start a small business… I shall think more on it."

Margaret smiled; she loved how resourceful he was.

"Oh, I forgot to mention—I heard Mr. Bell has been in town for a couple of days," she remarked.

"It's strange that he hasn't come to take the house," he observed.

"I thought so, too," she said.

Suddenly, there was a loud sound coming from the gates.

"What was that?" he asked, and they looked at each other in confusion.

After they heard another loud thud, they both stood up immediately and headed out in a hurry to find out what it was.

When they came outside they saw that there were carts coming in, and they were carrying the mill's looms and the furniture they had just been going over in their record book. The eldest Dawson brother came strolling in leisurely.

"Oh, Thornton, there you are!" exclaimed Charles. "Mrs. Thornton, you're looking lovely," he said politely when he saw Margaret—the whole town already knew of their union.

Margaret smiled in response.

"Charles," he greeted. "What's all of this?" he asked, looking around.

"I have a letter for you," he said, reaching into his breast pocket. "Mr. Bell came to see me," he explained as he handed him the sealed envelope.

Thornton took it and the first thing he noticed was that it was quite thick.

"He suggested you read it as soon as you received it," he added. "I will give you some space," he said before approaching the men that were carrying the looms and directing them into the mill.

Thornton opened the letter, and Margaret immediately came to his side to read it with him.

 _Dear Mr. and Mrs. Thornton,_

 _Forgive me, but I had to send a letter in my place since I could not muster the courage to face you after my reproachable actions. I promised my dear friend, Richard, that I would ensure Margaret's happiness. But I was misguided into thinking I could determine how that happiness would be in her stead. On that account, I can only say that I acted thinking it was in her best interest, and that now I see how wrong I was. But I do not wish to bother you with an endless speech filled with apologies, so I chose to make it up to you however I could._

 _As you can see, I bought back the looms and the furniture you misplaced at the auction house. Encased with this letter, you will find the deed of the property, which is now under Margaret's name (as well as some other properties I have acquired over the years). I also enclose the documents of a bank account I opened in her name, in which I left a considerable amount of money._

 _I thought it best not to show, since it makes it impossible for you to reject my peace offering. And I must let you know that if you intend to find me to give these back, you would have to travel thousands of miles, since I have decided to live the rest of my life in Argentina._

 _Congratulations on your wedding and I wish you all the happiness in the world._

 _Send my regards to your mother and sister._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Mr. Bell._

"I can't believe this," said Margaret as she looked around in awe.

"Well, you better believe it. You're now the owner of Marlborough Mills," he said, handing her the paperwork so she could read it herself.

Margaret couldn't help but smile—the mill was saved!

"This is excellent news!" she said, looking at her name on the paper. "Oh, how I swore to hate Mr. Bell for the rest of my life—now I can't bring myself to! Nicholas, Mary and everyone else will get their jobs back!" she exclaimed excitedly.

They looked into each other's eyes with genuine happiness. They were rich; they would have a honeymoon, they owned a large house, and they owned a mill. But there was a deeper understanding in that exchange; they also knew that if the wheel of fortune were to turn again, they could face it together, because they wouldn't lose what was most valuable of all—each other.

"We should tell your mother; and then pay a visit to Nicholas and Mary to let them know—they can spread the word!" she exclaimed, refraining from skipping with joy.

He nodded and he offered his arm to escort her back into the house.

"Now that you shall be a mill owner, I would be happy to offer my services," he said with a grin as they walked.

"Oh, I doubt it," she jested. "I would have to interview you… But, I don't think you're experienced enough."

"I assure you—I have a wide set of skills," he said, his tone betraying he meant something else. "I can demonstrate tonight," he whispered near her ear, making her blush.

"I look forward to it," she whispered back.

THE END.

* * *

AN. This was originally intended to be a one-shot but it kind of took on a life of its own. Thank you for reading and reviewing, your comments encouraged me a lot! I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I enjoyed writing it!


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